


Adverse Possession

by Tipper



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotions, Explosions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipper/pseuds/Tipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A land baron wreaks havoc and destruction on a massive scale at the edges of Four Corners' township. To deal with this new threat, Ezra tries to prove he's more than just a clever gun to Chris by showing off his legal acumen.  But since the reason for his proficiency is also the same thing that got him arrested for fraud in his past, his involvement may do more harm than good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Got Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This one is very old. It was the third "long" story I wrote, written in the summer of 1999 when I was still in law school, and I still hadn't seen all the episodes. I remember being very worried that there was canon about why Ezra had been sentenced by the Judge, but, thinking about it now, was it ever resolved? It also very much fits in with two of my favorite M7 fic tropes: (i) Ezra's trustworthiness, and (ii) when all else fails, blow something up. The only thing that makes it a little different is that, for once, it's not Chris that's doing the questioning (something I thought Ezra had earned after all the crap fic writers put him through). Oh, and I blow up something _really_ big. 
> 
> Definitely written before "Demons and Lovers." It also (briefly) introduced one of my tiny recurring characters, Carl Weathers. I ended up using Carl and his wife a lot in my stories. Funny that.

Cool October sunshine drizzled hazily over the land, warming the semi-arid landscape of the territories. A few hazy clouds drifted across the azure sky, golden eagles gliding effortlessly in and out of the shadows they created. Their playful cries complemented the laughter and words floating up from the lively village below, where people bustled around with light steps. It was a little before noon, and the smell of rabbits stewing and flat breads baking filled the dry air. 

The shrieking of the children brought Nathan from his reverie as he inspected Carl Weathers broken leg. Looking up, he couldn’t help but smile as he saw Ezra swinging one of the village children around in circles. The gambler held on to the child’s right leg and arm as he spun the little boy, the child’s excited squeals increasing with each turn. The tails of the cardinal red wool coat Ezra always wore to the village lifted like wings as he moved, and his face was wild with laughter. 

Seeing his friend like that was always amazed the healer--most of the time the only emotion the gambler showed was the occasional raised eyebrow or that irritating smug smile. 

"Ahem!" The grunt from Carl returned Nathan to the purpose of the visit, and the healer offered him a sheepish smile.

They were in the Seminole village just outside of Four Corners, summoned there by Carl’s wife, Sarah. The young couple were new to the territories, having found the first place where they felt accepted since being ordered from the plantations where they had spent their whole lives. It took months before they finally made it to the village, mostly on foot, and within one week, Carl had managed to break his leg falling off on the village’s horses. Apparently, he had neglected to tell the village elders he had no idea how to ride. It looked a hell of a lot easier than it turned out to be, Carl had grudgingly admitted to Nathan, and now he was paying for his arrogance. Nathan knew the feeling—wasn’t that long ago he’d pretended skills he didn’t have in an effort to fit in. 

"Sorry," Nathan said, returning to the splint he’d been tying off. Carl just sighed, and looked over at Ezra.

"Your friend there has a way with the kids, don’t he?" the hurt man noted, his voice soft. 

"Yep."

"I notice he don’t get along quite as well with adults." 

Nathan huffed a laugh. Understatement that. Frankly, Ezra didn’t talk to any of the elders of the village, usually hanging out with the kids. 

"Well," he explained, as he wrapped the cloth gingerly around the leg, "he’s a mite prickly when it comes to our kind, and the elders here return the sentiment." 

Carl’s face hardened, and Nathan slapped himself mentally for giving the wrong impression.

"Oh, now, don’t get me wrong. He's working on that, I know. Nah, I’m talking about people who don’t care about money—that he just can’t fathom, and they can’t fathom why he needs it so much."

Carl looked puzzled. A squeal turned their heads; Ezra was spinning a smaller child now, a girl, and he had about ten more children screaming that they were next. Nathan leaned forward, ripping the cloth he was tying with his teeth, and looked up, catching Carl’s attention again. 

"But you trust him," Carl said, indicating a question with a raise of eyebrows.

Nathan shrugged. "Yes," he stated simply. Then the healer looked up at Carl, his eyes were twinkling with mischief. "Just not with my money." He chuckled, and Carl, though clearly bemused, nodded and smiled crookedly in response. 

Nathan knew Carl was only being polite, but it didn’t matter. Both Carl and Sarah would soon learn of the motley group of seven men that protected this village and the town nearby. They trusted each other—goodness knows why—but a bond had formed and, lately, it’d felt unbreakable.

Nathan glanced down at the leg, and batted away Carl’s hand as the younger man went to scratch the scab on his shin that he’d received in the same fall. "Now, you stay off this leg for a few weeks, hear? I know that you’re worried that you won’t be able to earn your keep, but I am know the families here will find something you can do. If not, you can always come into town. I know the owner of the general store is looking for some counter help. She’ll let you work sitting down."

Carl grimaced, but nodded, as if he would consider it. He extended a hand. "Thank you, Nathan. We’ll see what happens." 

Nathan took the proffered hand and shook it. "I’ll be back to check it in a couple of weeks—sooner if you come into town. In the meantime, give Sarah my best."

"You’re leaving?"

"If we want to make it home ‘fore nightfall, yeah. Meaning I best go fetch the children’s ride before he falls down."  
_________________________________________

Ezra gently dropped Maria to the ground, the four year old crying out in dismay as the ride finished. Laughing, the gambler shooed her away, then put up his hand to wave off Sally as she came forward, wanting another ride. The world refused to stay still in Ezra’s vision, and he focused hard on the little gold pendant hanging from Sally’s neck. He was using it to center his world.

"My love," he panted, his hands now resting on his knees, "I am afraid that I have expended my reserves for the time being. You must give me some minutes so that I may recover."

He heard Nathan call his name, yelling to say it was time to go. The children booed as one, but Ezra couldn’t deny feeling a little relieved.

"Duty calls, my friends," he said, pushing back up onto his feet. Sudden dizziness assailed him as soon as he was upright, and he staggered backwards, trying to find equilibrium. He ran his heel into a small boulder and fell backwards, much to the delight of all the children still gathered around him. Within seconds, they were all over him, tickling and laughing as he shouted ineffectually at them to stop between gasps of laughter. 

All at once, the lunch bell sounded, and the children immediately rolled off Ezra, rushing to the sound. He lay there panting, and looked up at the upside down Nathan as the healer leaned over, smiling broadly.

"Looks like you were saved by the bell. I don’t think you could’ve survived much more of that assault."

"Assault?" Ezra wheezed. "That was a war! I barely survived the attack! And where were you? Aren’t you supposed to be watching my back?" He stuck a hand in the air, and waved it impatiently in front of his friend. "Help me up, you reprobate." With an exaggerated sigh, Nathan grabbed it and pulled—a little too harshly. Ezra bounded to his feet and stumbled forward a few steps. He glared at Nathan’s renewed laughter. "Brutus!" he accused.

"When in Rome…" Nathan said, laughing more.

"Oh, this Caesar’s not going down so easy!" Ezra shoved at Nathan’s back, playfully pushing him forward, to which Nathan responded by hunkering down and throwing himself at Ezra’s waist. They both fell to the ground in fits of laughter, dust rising up around them in a great puff. Neither noticed the rider coming in hard, until he was almost upon them.

Buck galloped into the canyon, steering his gray directly towards the two men near the far side. They spotted him just as he pulled in hard, scattering dust clouds up around the horse’s hooves. Ezra looked up, wiping his eyes, and his smile quickly fell as he saw Buck’s face.

"We got trouble," Buck said. "Reed just rolled in with his wife and daughter—someone attacked them, beat 'em up something bad. They need you now." He said this last part to Nathan, before switching his attention to Ezra. "We’re to meet Chris and Vin out by the Reed ranch and find the bastards who did this." 

Ezra stood up, patting the dust off his coat. "Do we know who--?"

"No. The only one awake was the little girl, and she collapsed the moment she found Chris. Shot in the back."

"Shot?" Nathan said, eyes wide. "Someone shot a child?"

"Like I said," Buck snarled, clearly spoiling for a fight, "we got trouble."  
________________________

Buck kicked his horse harder, trying to keep up with Ezra. They were both riding fairly hard, trying to catch up with Chris and Vin before they reached the ranch. After the hard ride he’d already taken to get to the village, it was easy to see understand why Chaucer was quicker than Buck’s tall gray, but Buck didn’t dare suggest they slow down despite the thickening lather on his horse’s neck. 

The Reeds were one of the families who lived furthest from town, barely within the township’s reach. Indeed, some argued that they weren’t actually under the Seven’s protection, seeing as how the family rarely came into town, but one look at little Martha Reed was enough to spur people into action.

Buck’s jaw clenched as he remembered the sight. Martha, barely twelve years old, was the one driving the decrepit wagon. She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder, but she was lucid enough to tell them that her home had been hit. Somehow, the resourceful child had gotten her mother and father into the back of the wagon, and gotten away, but not before taking a bullet to the shoulder as she'd escaped. 

_Who the hell shoots a little girl in the back?_

_Easy. Someone who didn’t deserve to live._

His anger continued to fester, barely noticing that Ezra was slowing until the younger man pulled up atop a ridge and gasped. Buck’s first view of the little homestead didn’t cause him to gasp—it made him swear, furious beyond reason.

Below them, he could see Chris and Vin walking cautiously up to the ruined single story home, guns drawn. It was drilled with bullet holes on the front and the side, the wooden walls and porch hanging loosely from rusted nails. Part of the house looked as if it had caved in on itself, probably the front room, and the rear was still on fire from where someone had deliberately set it alight.

The barn off to the left side off the house was a smoldering wreck—probably it had been lit up first. Small flickers of flames and burning embers were still visible in the wreckage, and the smell of burnt flesh assailed their nostrils, even from up here. The horses and goats must have been inside at the time, with no chance to escape. Ezra shut his eyes and turned away. Buck swore a few more times, until he was finally quiet. 

"We’d best get down there, Ezra," Buck muttered. Chris had turned once he and Vin had determined it was safe, and signaled them to come down, having obviously heard their arrival.

"Perhaps it would be best for me to inspect the countryside for tracks?" Ezra replied, his voice cracking slightly. From out of his coat pocket, he had pulled a handkerchief to cover his face.

"Not the time to for airs, hoss," Buck said, giving him a dark stare. Ezra blinked, but nodded, his eyes still a little too wide.

"Of course," he said softly. With a click of his tongue, he nudged Chaucer down the hill, and Buck followed after. 

By the time they reached the homestead, Vin was already doing as Ezra had suggested, searching for tracks, obviously the most skilled at the task. Chris had found a bucket and was drawing water to throw on the still smoldering fires, pulling it from the small pond just behind the house. Ezra and Buck soon joined their leader, working until the fires were all out.

After that, they gingerly entered the structure, wary that the house might collapse even further. 

Buck stopped at the door to the collapsed front room, which had clearly taken the brunt of the assault. The two adults must have tried to make a stand from here, to fight off their attackers, but it hadn't worked. Blood was splatted on both the floor and walls—it was amazing that the Reeds had gotten away at all. 

Chris wandered up next to him, his eyes narrowed into slits. Buck had an idea what he was thinking about—remembering more like—but he couldn't think of the right thing to say.

"Find anything?" Chris asked quietly.

"Nothing to explain this, no," Buck answered. "Not that there can ever be an explanation for shooting a child."

Ezra walked past them into the room and knelt down to pick up a photograph in a frame by the fireplace, the glass covered in soot, and wiped it up with the same handkerchief he’d used to hide his face earlier.

"Josiah said you knew these folks some," Chris said to Ezra then, turning Ezra’s head. Buck lifted his eyebrows, surprised by the statement, and saw his expression mirrored by Ezra. "Any idea why this might of occurred?" Chris asked.

Ezra frowned. "How did Josiah know--?"

Chris shrugged. "He had a talk with Mrs. Reed and her daughter, when you and Vin were in Eagle Bend last week. Apparently, Martha was looking for you. Something about a promise to get her literature about some fancy school."

Ezra looked at the filth covered floor, his brow furrowed. "I admit that I’ve been to visit a few times while on patrol." He shrugged, standing up with the photo still in hand. "The girl has an exceptional mind—very quick, very…. I brought her some books, and was telling her a little about some of the eastern colleges, and I…I…." He frowned, and shook his head, as if to clear it. 

"What about her parents? They seem at all troubled? Maybe Reed was a gambler, and he owed someone money?"

Ezra stared at the photo for a moment before looking up, and Buck was amazed at how nakedly open Ezra was at that moment, showing everything he was feeling.

"No," the gambler said. "Not a chance. Mr. Larabee, I promise you, these are good people, beyond reproach. Paul…Paul Reed not only didn't gamble, he didn't even drink. No, there is rational explanation for this horror. I can think of no reason within the realm of sanity why anyone would want to hurt these people, especially not that little girl."

"Well," Chris said, looking at the bloodstains, "someone had a reason and we need to figure out fast." He looked again at Ezra. "Because they're not going to get away with it."

Ezra smiled slightly, as if pleased (and a little surprised) to be believed, and he nodded. 

"So, how do we do it?" Buck asked Chris.

"You and me are going to go check in with Vin," Chris answered. "Ezra, since you sorta knew ‘em, see if you can gather whatever's still intact that you think they might need or want while in town." 

Ezra nodded again, going past them to get to the back of the house. Buck watched him pass, then joined Chris in making their way out the front. They found Vin about twenty yards away, standing near a small clump of trees and the well. 

The tracker was kneeling down, staring intently at the ground. He started speaking before Chris even opened his mouth.

"I’m guessing there was about twenty of them, all armed with rifles. They didn’t attempt to take the house, as most didn’t move from this spot, they just wanted to destroy it. They must’ve been awful cocky--I don’t even think any of ‘em got off their horses to find cover when the Reeds started firing back." He shook his head, taking off his hat in order to run a hand through his long brown hair. He looked back at the house, indicating it with a nod of his head.

"I figure the girl and her parents must’ve had the wagon round back, probably already hitched up for some reason, and she took off round the far side of the barn to get away, using it for cover, such as it was. She was real lucky they didn’t go after her."

"I guess they didn’t think she’d make it all the way to town after they shot her," Buck said darkly.

"Truth be told, I’m not really sure how she did," Vin admitted, shaking his head, fingers touching the dried blood on his sleeves where he’d helped carry her up to the clinic from the wagon. 

"Ezra said she was something special," Chris said, as if that answered the question. Then he looked at the ground beyond where Vin was--a fairly wide swath of trampled grass led towards where the sun hung in the sky.

Vin nodded, seeing Chris’s thoughts without needing to hear them. "Yeah, 'bout fifteen of ‘em headed almost directly south, towards Mexico. The others stayed behind to torch the house and barn. That second bunch went in a more westerly direction." He shrugged. "I can trail the big group south, but I already got a good idea where most of ‘em went."

"Purgatory," Buck concluded for him. Vin just nodded.

"The rest, probably back to whoever owns ‘em. I don’t know. Either way, it's out of our jurisdiction. The area west of here is part of the town of Meeksville, not to mention part of a different territory. Travis has no jurisdiction there." Despite these words, the tracker looked at Chris, clearly waiting for the go-ahead. Chris looked up at the sky, clearly estimating the amount of light left, and shrugged.

"Don’t care. Track ‘em, but be careful. If someone had the money to hire that many desperados for one small family, they must be pretty big." He sighed, and looked north. "Ezra and I’ll check out the other outlying ranches along this border. As soon as you get an idea of what’s out there, get home. I don’t want any heroics. I think we all want a piece of this one."  
___________________________

Nathan looked down at the lifeless body of Mrs. Reed, his heart pounding with regret and guilt. Gently, he shut her eyes and pulled the sheet over her. In the corner, he heard JD let out a quiet cry and leave the room. Nathan bowed his head, the familiar feelings of inadequacy and fear washing over him as he wondered if a real doctor might have been able to save the woman. 

His rational mind berated him for such foolish thoughts, reminding him that Mrs. Reed had been long gone before he’d even arrived. The blood loss alone was enough to end her life, but combined with deepness of the wounds and the massive internal damage, she never had a chance. Still, these thoughts were never enough to calm the shakes that overcame him in the silence of the clinic. It took several deep breaths before he felt strong enough to check on his other patients.

Paul Reed lay on his back in the nearby cot, breathing slowly but regularly. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his head, where a bullet had grazed his skull. It would give the man a serious headache, but, Nathan hoped, not too bad of a concussion. He’d checked the man’s pupils and had been satisfied to see them responding evenly, albeit slowly. The man also wore bandages around his hips, where a bullet had broken the bone, and a splint on his left leg. He might walk again, but it’d be a long road and would always have a limp.

Curled into her father’s side, Martha Reed slumbered uneasily, her tear-stained cheeks red with fever. The gunshot to her shoulder had broken her left scapula, but at least the bone had prevented the bullet from penetrating too deeply. It probably saved her life. She also had a bandage round her left thigh, where a bullet had grazed her leg. Now, she lay her head on her father’s chest, loose nut brown curls contrasting sharply with her father’s pale skin, her sleep likely only comforted by the continued beating of her father’s heart. 

Nathan was not looking forward to telling her that her mother’s heart no longer beat in time.  
_______________________________

JD sucked in the cool afternoon air outside the clinic, trying to hold onto his sanity. When the wagon had pulled in, and he saw all the blood, he had wanted to ride straight to the ranch to gun down the bastards who had done this. But his body had disobeyed, and he had run to the clinic instead. Without being told, he’d set the water boiling and laid out the herbs he knew Nathan would need. Of course, Nathan wasn’t there, but JD had been ordered by the healer so often that he instinctively knew what to do without him. Mary had joined him only moments later, pulling out the bandages and helping him prepare as the others brought the bodies inside. He and Mary had done what they could to clean them up before Nathan arrived, but Mrs. Reed had been such a mess. If only he had known more about what to do, maybe she’d still be alive.

Wiping away a useless tear, he looked up to see what shadow approached to torment him now. The preacher’s blue eyes gazed back at him calmly, giving JD strength without a word being spoken.

"Mrs. Reed is dead. I…we…couldn’t stop the bleeding." 

Josiah nodded, placing a hand on the young sheriff’s shoulder. "She was dead before she arrived, son, and nothing on this earth was going to prevent her from taking her place in the heavens. But Martha and her father have a second chance at life, and for that, you and Mary must be praised. Nathan told me earlier that, if the two of you hadn’t been so quick to clean their wounds, none of the family might have made it."

JD accepted the praise with a hollow heart, but at least it calmed him down. He smiled at his friend in gratitude, and sat down on the clinic steps to wait for news on whether the others would survive the night. Josiah sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, and let the young man lean on him.


	2. The Outlying Ranches

There were two other ranches that existed as far out as the Reeds, and also shared a border with the Meeksville township. One was newly claimed by a young Swedish couple by the name of Aif, and the other was a slightly larger hold owned by a family of Germans named Goldman. Like the Reeds, neither of these families came into town much, preferring to be on their own, making them something of a mystery. 

"You hang out much with these other folks?" Chris asked. 

He saw Ezra frown in response, as if he was trying to discern the hidden chastisement in the words. 

"With the Aifs, no. I just say hello and check that everything is alright. As for the Goldmans, I have spent some time with them." He shrugged. "They have a couple of little boys whom I thought could use some refinement." 

"And by ‘refinement’ you mean…?"

"I might be teaching them how to read."

Chris' eyebrows lifted. "Really? Why?"

"If you must know, because they pay me to. I'm teaching Mrs. Goldman as well."

Chris huffed, genuinely surprised. "How much?"

"Does it matter?"

Chris pondered that a moment, then decided he didn't really care. Instead he asked, "Did the Reeds pay you as well? Is that how you know about Martha?"

Ezra narrowed his gaze. "Why is this relevant?"

Chris considered that briefly, before shrugging. "I guess it’s not, so long as you’re not taking advantage of them." 

Ezra’s back stiffened. "I'm not. I wouldn't. They don't have anything worth--" He cut himself off, then hesitated a moment before adding, "If you must know, they insisted on paying me. I didn't ask for it."

Chris smiled slightly, and shook his head. "You’re right. I guess I’m just curious why you’d even talk to these folks at all. Other than Josiah and JD, the rest of us just don’t feel so inclined to get to know everyone." 

When Ezra didn’t answer, Chris spoke again. "Truth be told, Ezra, I didn’t think you were the type to get involved with people like this either. Even if they are paying you, it can’t be that much."

The only expression that crossed the gambler’s face was that of a slight raise of the eyebrows. "I suppose, then, that you don’t know me as well as you thought," he replied, his voice flat.

"Nah…." Chris said, wondering if Ezra knew how transparent he was being right now. "I know a few things. I’m just a little slow at picking up on ‘em sometimes."

"Then permit me to enlighten you. Quite simply, gentlemen, such as myself, whose primary vocation involves the studying and dealing with people’s wants and needs, must of necessity be informed about all the personalities within their purview."

Chris mulled this over for a moment, ensuring that he understood it all, then emitted a short laugh. "Did you say you ‘deal’ with people’s needs? If Nate were here, he'd say that's just a fancy way of saying you con and swindle people for a living." 

Ezra viewed his fellow peacekeeper with disdain from below his hat, then looked away. "I prefer not to use such vulgar words, Mr. Larabee. Moreover, I do not believe they accurately characterize my profession. "

Chris continued to look at Ezra, his head tilted slightly to the side. Then he shrugged. "No, I suppose they don’t. 'Least, not anymore. 'Bleeding heart' and 'soft touch' if a kid’s involved would be better ones."

Ezra didn’t respond immediately. He blinked a few times, then frowned.

"Was that a compliment?" he asked.

"Hell no."

"Just checking." But Ezra was smiling now, and Chris almost joined him, but at that moment they’d crested the hill above the Aif’s little farmhouse. They pulled the horses to a stop, and Chris’s black mood returned in full force.

In the small valley below, cows, goats and horses should be milling around enjoying the sunny, but cool day. There should be chickens in the pen, making noise. The Aifs should be working the ranch and garden, taking advantage of the perfect weather as much as possible.

But while the view was as pretty as a picture, it was also lifeless.

"Who was the last person to ride patrol out here?" Ezra asked, breaking the mood.

"Vin. Five days ago. He said everything looked fine. Even spoke with Mr. Aif about where to hire some folks to help him build a barn for his new livestock."

"What livestock?" Ezra asked softly.

Chris just frowned, and nudged his horse forward. 

Moments later, they entered the small clearing where the house stood. It was a pretty dwelling, small and painted a cheery white. Yellow curtains blew in the open windows, and the sound of the nearby spring bubbling out of the earth greeted their ears. Beyond the house, the woods opened into a large meadow, and newly fenced off grasslands could be seen in the distance.

Chris dismounted, watching everything warily. "Hello, the house!" he called to the structure. When no one responded, Ezra dismounted as well. Unconsciously, both men brushed their coats back to reveal their weapons.

"Mr. Aif?" Ezra called. "Mrs. Aif?"

Chris motioned that they should approach from different sides. Nodding, Ezra went to the left side, to get around to the back. That left Chris the ajar front door, and, as he sidled up next to it, he could still smell the fresh blue paint covering it.

Silently, he pushed open the door, gun in hand. He heard Ezra enter via the back. There was only the bedroom, a small parlor and the upstairs loft to inspect. It was obvious all were empty.

"Deserted," Ezra noted, looking genuinely dismayed at the fact. "All the personal items, like pictures, are gone. They left behind quite a lot of furniture though—that's going to set them back."

"Probably only took enough to fill a wagon," Chris said. "They'd need to make room for the animals' feed."

"Why would they leave so abruptly? And where would they go?"

Chris shook his head. This small holding was perfect for a family just starting out--something many craved when they came out here. In fact, it was prettier and better set up than most, considering the trees and the ready spring. He looked out the back door to the grasslands beyond. He'd seen Aif setting those fences just a few weeks ago on patrol.

"Chris," Ezra called from the front parlor. The gunslinger turned, waiting as Ezra walked back into the hall holding a piece of paper in his hands. "This is peculiar. It’s a notice of eviction."

"A what?" Chris moved forward, grabbing the thin parchment from Ezra’s hands. 

Ezra frowned. "It claims that the Aifs are on land owned by someone named Marcus Allen, and it gave them until yesterday to vacate. It had to have been backed up by a strong threat for them to move so quickly."

"Twenty men from Purgatory would do it."

Ezra grimaced, as if pained by the notion.

Chris tilted his head as he read through the whole notice. "I don't get it. There's no Marcus Allen in Four Corners. Is this thing even legal?"

"I have no idea as to its legitimacy. However, it appears to be signed by the Sheriff of Meeksville, Jeff Clark."

"Well, there you go. This isn’t his jurisdiction."

Ezra frowned slightly. "I’m not so certain of that. The lines around here are not as fixed as you would think, and if you look at the letters after the Sheriff’s name, it appears Mr. Clark is a certified land surveyor. He should know his business."

"So, what, you’re telling me this might be valid?"

"The eviction notice as a legal document, maybe. But whether Mr. Allen’s claim on this property is valid...?" He shrugged.

"It can't be."

"Only way to determine that is look into the property’s title."

"Or maybe we should just go and talk to this Marcus Allen," Chris snarled. He had only met the Aifs once, but they seemed good people. They didn’t deserve to be treated so roughly. 

"I understand the sentiment, Mr. Larabee, but in all likelihood Mr. Allen is also behind the debacle at the Reed estate. I would not wish to step into his nest until we are certain we have the law on our side."

"We have it," Chris said sharply, with perhaps a bit more force than he intended. Didn’t Ezra see what had happened at the Reeds? 

"I only meant," Ezra said, "that Mr. Allen is currently in a different judge's territory." He took the paper back. "And when it comes to property rights, the law can be a somewhat malleable substance." He grimaced. "You may recall that even Guy Royal managed to stay within the bounds of the law until he hired Spikes."

"You think what happened at the Reeds was within the bounds of the law?" Chris was seething now.

"No. Of course not. Just…" He paused, as if fighting with himself. "We need proof, especially if this man is as wealthy as I think is. Twenty men just to run off a young couple and a little girl? That's someone with money to burn, and that kind of money can buy you a lot of protection, including a judge if necessary." 

"Not Travis."

"No, but we don't know the judge covering Meeksville. I've met a lot of judges in my life, Chris, and Travis is definitely in the minority when it comes to honesty."

Chris grimaced in disgust, but he heard the logic. Ezra tucked the notice away in his waistcoat pocket, and gestured towards the front door. 

"For now, I think it would be in our best interest to continue on our journey to visit the Goldmans. I know for a fact that they have been on that property over ten years now, the age of their eldest son. If they have been threatened, I believe they would not be as accommodating as the Aifs."

Chris frowned but nodded, and he saw Ezra visibly relax at that. Man must've thought he'd fight him—and he might've in an earlier time. Maybe Ezra wasn't the only one getting soft.

"Do you know how the Aifs got this place?" he asked, as he took one last look around the nearly empty room.

Ezra nodded. "I believe they hoped to gain possession through peaceable means."

"So they didn't have a deed."

Ezra frowned. "No. They thought land unclaimed."

Chris's eyes narrowed, took one last look around. "Was it?"

"I…" Ezra shook his head. "How would I know?"

Chris looked at him, and Ezra sighed.

"Right. I'm the one who said we needed proof." Ezra shrugged. "I'll see what I can find out when we get home."

"Good. Now let's go talk to the Goldmans."  
_________________________

"Damn," Vin muttered. Next to him, Buck whistled in obvious awe as he looked across the huge valley. 

The two lawmen were standing on a hill, Gray and Peso resting a few feet behind them, looking down on an enormous ranch. It seemed to spread out for miles on both sides, fences and dirt roads scarring the fertile landscape. Vin estimated that at least two thousand head of cattle roamed around it, and he could see horses and pigs moving around in pens. They had jumped a few fences to get this far, but neither man wanted to go any further. Nor did they need to. It was obvious where the tracks led.

"How many men you think this guy owns?" Buck whispered.

"I don’t know. I ain’t never seen anyone claim this much land for their own," Vin replied, utterly disgusted. The fences had irritated him, but this blatant example of overweening greed was too much. "Who the hell would need all this? What is he planning on doing? Feeding the whole damn territory?"

"Naw, pard. I think he just wants to own it." He shook his head. "Man, even James and Royal combined don't have this much space. Might even give the Ponderosa a run for its money."

"The what?" Vin asked.

"Uh oh." Buck pointed towards a group of riders fast approaching their position. "I think we may have a welcoming committee." 

Three men galloped up to them, spitting dust in their wake. Two held rifles on the gunslingers, while the man in the middle addressed them. Both Buck and Vin kept their hands loose, though Vin had to fight not to cross his arms in anger.

"You are on private property," the man in the middle snapped, sounding almost like military. "You will leave now, or you will be arrested for trespassing."

"We were just passing through, friend," Buck replied, squinting up at the man’s face in the fading light. "We didn’t intend to--"

"I don’t care why you’re here. If you don’t turn around now, we are under orders to shoot."

Something akin to surprise crossed Buck’s face. "You’re joking," he said, huffing a laugh. "For just standing here?" Vin looked to the ground, but one hand had drifted up to Peso’s saddle horn. The sound of the rifles hammer’s being pulled back answered Buck’s statement.

"Okay, okay, no problem," Buck said, waving his hands in front of him. "We’re gone." Vin simply sighed and mounted. In moments, both he and Buck had their horses turned around, and the ranch hands spread out to keep them covered. Trying to appear as harmless, Buck and Vin started their horses off at a brisk trot, and the riders shadowed them.

The continued silently all the way to the first fence. Vin was about to get off and open the gate, but a quick order not to move came from the lead ranch hand. One of the rifleman dismounted, and swung the gate open, allowing the others to pass. He quickly remounted, and had his gun pointed at the lawmen again.

"Isn’t this a little extreme?" Buck grumbled. But he wasn’t answered. He pursed his lips in annoyance and brushed at his black moustache. As they approached the second fence, he tried again to get the men to talk. "At least tell me whose property it is that we trespassed on. That way I can warn others from coming this way."

The leader narrowed his eyes for a moment before replying. "This is the Square M ranch, owned by Monsieur Marcus Allen." 

"Monsieur?" Buck repeated.

"You heard."

Buck glanced at Vin, who merely shrugged. 

They reached the second fence, and the procedure was repeated. This time, however, the riders didn’t follow Buck and Vin out. 

"We will keep the rifles on you until you are out of range," the leader said. 

Buck raised his eyebrows at Vin but Vin shook his head. He’d had enough of this place and this treatment. Buck gave a nod, clearly knowing him well enough now to know that his silence was only to keep his fury in check. With a loud "Ha!" Buck spurred his mount forward, Vin racing right behind.  
______________________________

Ezra could feel the question coming before it was asked, but it still felt a bit like a slap when it did come.

"Ezra?"

"Yes, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris slowed his horse down, and Ezra matched it, keeping his face as neutral as possible.

"I'm just going to ask this once," Chris said. "Am I right in thinking that you know something about crooked land schemes?"

Ezra pursed his lips slightly, and then smiled. "Define 'crooked.'" 

Chris glared at him and Ezra sighed. _Why do I even try joking with the man?_

"I may," Ezra said slowly, "on occasion, have had the opportunity to could gain some modicum of experience, indirectly of course, in dealing with--"

"Jesus, Ezra, I'm not saying I care," Chris said impatiently. "I don't give a crap who you or your mother might've screwed over before you came here. What I'm asking is, do you know how to defend against them?"

Ezra's eyebrows lifted. "I, uh…"

"You said we needed to be certain to have the law on our side. I need to know if you know enough about land deals to make this right for these people, 'cause if you don't…?" 

Ezra understood. If he couldn't fix it, Chris would find another way to make this Marcus Allen pay for what he'd done to the Reeds and the Aifs, which likely meant a suicidal attack that could leave them all dead or, at best, outlaws. 

With growing horror, Ezra realized that Chris wasn't just asking his opinion. He was asking for Ezra to fix it. He'd never asked him something like that before; and it was terrifying.

It was also, incredibly, a sign of trust in something other than Ezra's handling of a gun. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

"Oh I know enough, Mr. Larabee," he promised. "I know more than enough. If there's a way, I'll find it." 

Chris stared at him for a moment, then gave a nod and clicked his tongue to start his horse moving again. Ezra hesitated briefly, reliving what just happened and hearing his survival instincts screaming bloody murder inside his head. 

But the pride he felt at the trust Chris had just given him overruled all sense. He smiled, briefly and unreservedly, and nudged Chaucer to follow after his leader.  
___________________________________________

When Ezra and Chris topped the rise leading to the Goldman homestead, Ezra gave an audible sigh of relief to see it both intact and occupied. Still, both he and Chris took the opportunity to take a good look around the space before moving down, in case they weren't the only strangers studying the house.

The yellow, two story farmhouse was alit with candlelight in the fading sunlight, and the sounds of a family just settling down to dinner carried up to the lawmen. The Goldmans had built their home almost directly under a steep, red cliff-face, which afforded them both shelter and protection. Behind the house, hugging the cliff, a small gathering of white ash trees had sprung up, and a garden of ripening vegetables was laid out in neat rows on either side of a well-worn track leading to a large cave in the cliff wall. The well stood off to one side, also near the trees, and Ezra could just make out the white shirted shape of a ten year old boy drawing up the bucket. 

The house itself looked south over a series of grasslands and pastures where horses and cattle grazed lazily. A large well-kept red barn stood about a couple hundred yards away from the house, buttressed by a couple of smaller sheds cheerily painted white. On the other side, a hen house was visible, surrounded by high chicken wire to keep the coyotes out. All in all, it was a very peaceful scene. 

As they headed down towards the house through the nearest pasture, the cows started snorting and bellowing, moving away from them. Down near the house, the little boy looked in their direction and immediately saw the riders on the hill. He covered his eyes with a hand to see them better against the setting sun, then yelled in delight: 

"Mama, Mama! Ezra’s here! Ezra’s come to visit!"

Chris smiled at Ezra. "Well, you are nothing if not distinctive in those clothes."

The always well-dressed gambler shrugged. "Simply a matter of good taste, Mr. Larabee."

As the two men steered their horses past the barn, Hans Goldman stepped out and into the yard so that he could watch the two men approach. It was hard to ignore the rifle he held loosely in his hands—Ezra hadn't ever seen him carry one before. Hans waved his son inside, and then waited patiently for them to get closer.

"This normal for him?" Chris asked softly, looking at the rifle as they rode up the large yard.

"No," Ezra replied. To hide his worry, he plastered a smile on his face and lifted his hand in a wave.

"Mr. Goldman, it's wonderful to see you! We--"

"Something I can do for you gentlemen?" Hans asked, his German clip giving the words a caustic feel. He was a large man, close to 6’4", with a shock of blond hair sticking up above an extremely ruddy complexion. Dark brown eyes watched the men warily.

"Yes," Ezra answered, "we were hoping—"

"There's been some trouble up at the Reed ranch," Chris interrupted, leaning on his saddle horn. "You know anything about it?"

"Nope." Hans didn’t relax his stance. Inside, the sound of the two boys arguing with their mother were clearly heard.

"Mr. Goldman," Ezra soothed, "the Reeds and your neighbors, the Aifs, have both been forced from their properties. Now, we do not appreciate people threatening our friends, friends such as yourself, and we need information if we hope to help them."

Hans frowned, but still shook his head.

"Damn it, man, don’t be stupid," Chris snapped. "If someone’s tried to run you off, we can help you." 

"Well, that was direct," Ezra muttered. 

But, well, it also worked. Hans sighed and dropped the rifle to his side. "You mean that?" he asked. 

"That's what we're here for," Chris answered, as if it were obvious and this man was an idiot.

Hans didn't seem to notice the jibe, his shoulders slumping in obvious relief. With a shaking hand, he pushed his coarse hair back off his forehead. 

"Sorry about that. I thought you were here to make us leave." He sighed. "You are correct; we are being threatened. I…I suppose you’d best come inside." At those words, excited squeals were heard, and the two young boys ran out of the house, followed by a relieved looking Beatta Goldman. In seconds, the children were at Chaucer’s legs, chatting up at Ezra. He spotted Chris’ knowing smirk and resolved to ignore it. 

Swiftly, the two lawmen men dismounted, Chris following Hans and Beatta back into the house, and Ezra kneeling down to promise Manfred and Charles that he would visit with them later. Now, however, he had to follow his boss into the house and talk to their father.

"About the bad men?" Manfred Goldman asked, his seven year old frame shivering at the memory. Ten year old Charles cuffed him on the back of the head, telling his little brother not to be so silly. Ezra furrowed his brow.

"Yes, boys, we’re here about the bad men. And I guarantee, Charles, it’s not silly. More importantly, if those men come back, I’ll need you both to look after each other, okay? No matter what happens, you two find a good hiding place and stay there. Now, do I have your word?" Ezra didn’t blink as he switched his gaze from one child to the other and back again. Manfred swallowed, and stood up straighter.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Ezra. You have our word."

"Manny and I are good hiders, Mr. Ezra. We won’t let you down." Charles grabbed his younger brother in a fierce hug, as if to reiterate the notion, though Manfred tried to push him off. Ezra smiled, and solemnly shook both boys' hands.

"Well then, it is always a joy to work with such honorable gentlemen as yourselves. Now, I really must speak with your father. I’ll come and see you before I leave, alright?" 

Both boys grinned widely and nodded. Beatta came out then to tell the boys to hurry or their food would get cold. With a little sibling jostling, the boys spun around and ran up the porch into the warm farmhouse, Ezra on their heels. Mrs. Goldman ushered the boys into the kitchen to eat, then, with one more glance back at Chris and Hans in the parlor, she followed her sons.

Ezra wandered into the cozy room, drawing up a chair to the table where the other two men were already talking. Pulling off his dust covered hat, he placed it one a nearby chair and ran tired fingers through his dark hair.

"When did they come?" Chris asked Hans, and Ezra perked up to hear the answer.

Hans leaned back, exhaling deeply. "Two days ago. Three men just rode up to the house and handed me this." He pulled out a paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to the gunslinger. Chris frowned, and passed it to Ezra. It was an eviction notice identical to that they had found at the Aifs. Hans continued, "They told us to be gone by Sunday, or they would remove us by force. I think the exact words were, ‘we’ll bury you.’ But I am not going to give this place up without a fight. Three men are not going to scare my family from land that is ours." He smiled wryly. "Though if one of the men had been you, Mr. Larabee, I might have changed my mind."

At that moment, Beatta entered the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. She smiled as she passed around the delicate china.

Chris accepted the tea with a nod, and spoke to their host. "Problem is, it’s not just three men. When we arrived, we mentioned the Reeds. Do you know them?"

Hans frowned, but nodded. Ezra smiled up at Beatta as she poured his tea. "Danke schoen, Beatta," he said politely. 

"Bitte, Mr. Standish."

Chris looked at his tea as if confused by it, before putting it on the table. "We believe the Reeds were also ordered to leave their property. When they refused, this Marcus Allen sent a small army to get rid of them. They destroyed the house, burnt down the barn, and the family was badly hurt."

Beatta’s hands shook a little as she poured the tea for her husband, the only sign that she was listening to the conversation. Hans stared at the cup in front of him for a few moments before responding.

"This is my land. I bought it fair from the man before me. They can’t just take it." He looked up at them both. "And I plan to fight for it."

"Mr. Goldman," Ezra said then. "As I understand it, you have been here ten years now, correct?" 

Hans nodded. "Yes, we arrived a few months before Charles was born."

"And the man who lived here before you, do you know how long he had possession?"

Hans shook his head. "No, I think that, maybe, he was here for a few years. But, I do know that there must also have been someone before him. The barn is at least twenty years old."

"And am I also to understand that, when you bought this land, it was simply a handshake deal. You were not given a title to the property?"

Hans looked confused. "Title?"

"A land deed, Mr. Goldman. A piece of paper that states the boundaries and other qualities of the property. It states ownership."

"No, no," Hans said, shaking his head. "This land, all this land, was, I was told, not owned by anyone. People could take what they wanted, and declare ownership by just being here. In ten years, no one has bothered us. I just don’t understand what that piece of paper…" He gestured to the eviction notice, his motions betraying his agitation. "…means. How can someone own this land when I have been here so long?"

"Mr. Goldman," Ezra placated, "I believe that this land is yours. Furthermore, with a little bit of research, I am certain we can prove it. Indeed, even if this Marcus Allen has color of title, you have been on this land long enough to establish, tacking on the people before you, that you have adverse possession."

"Tacking people? Adverse possession?" Hans repeated, his eyes showing his confusion. "I am afraid I do not know what that means. What does that mean come Sunday?"

Chris raised his eyebrows at Ezra, apparently allowing him to take the lead. Ezra frowned, his expression dark.

"Well, unfortunately, I do not think that we can establish your legal rights quite that quickly. And, if you truly desire to retain your hold on this place…."

"Yes," Hans declared, catching his wife’s eyes. Beatta nodded where she now stood off to one side, her jaw firm.

"Then we will make certain that you keep it." Now Ezra looked to Chris for confirmation of the next move. Chris inclined his head and Ezra felt the rush of pride again.

"But first we have to keep you alive," Chris told Hans. "Put only your most valuable possessions into your wagon, drive your cattle to the Chandlers ranch—we'll go there on our way back to town and get their agreement to watch them for you—and then come into town on Saturday. You can use our rooms at the boarding house. Me and the boys'll ride out here and do what we can to protect this place. You will not be run off."

Hans shook his head. "No, this is my land. I will protect it too."

"Mr. Goldman, please," Ezra said, smiling now, "we have already seen what these men can do. I promise, we will keep your homestead safe. You must be there to ensure the continued safety of your family."

Hans opened his mouth to protest again, but Chris cut him off by standing abruptly. "This is not open to discussion, Hans. We'll see you in town on Saturday, and as soon as you arrive, we will ride out here."

Beatta came forward and placed a calming hand on her husband’s shoulder when it looked like his might protest again. "Hans," she whispered, her German accent much thicker than her husband’s, "please." Hans placed a large callused hand over her smaller one, and sat in that position for a few moments. Eventually, he looked up at Chris, his dark brown eyes set. 

"I suppose we must trust you."

"Good!" Beatta said. "Now, we were about to eat. Join us, yes?"  
______________________________

About an hour later, with the sun now below the horizon, the two lawmen bid farewell to the Goldmans, riding hard to get to the Chandlers' ranch before it got too late. 

They made good time, both keeping their own thoughts, until Chris slowed his horse to a slow trot to cross through a shallow riverbed and let Ezra come up alongside. The horse's hooves splashed water and scattered small fish, while small animals on the far bank skittered quickly into hiding as they lawmen got closer to dry land.

"How long will it take you to look the stuff up that you need?" he asked as they climbed up onto the road again, eyes on the low hanging harvest moon lighting up the evening sky.

"Not long," Ezra replied, looking at the same moon. "A day maybe?"

"Then what?"

"We file an injunction to stop the eviction."

"How long does that take?"

"I can do it tomorrow, but I'll need to send papers to make it stick. If I catch the pony express rider tomorrow on their way through town, the papers should be in Santa Fe by Friday. And if I telegram the judge to look for it and he's there, we might even have it by Friday. In fact, depending on his mood, he might even declare the evictions illegal without a hearing, in which case—"

"We can go after Allen for unlawful evictions."

"Yup."

Chris nodded, mulling over the timing. "So, by Sunday, we might have reason to chase those bastards home to Allen."

"As long as Allen's money doesn't stop the papers from being filed somehow." 

Chris snorted. "Well, I know one Circuit Judge who won't be on his payroll."  
__________________________

"Orrin Travis! Well met!" Marcus Allen declared, his arms open wide to greet the Judge as he descended the stage in front of Allen’s large mansion. Allen was a stout gentleman of French parentage, standing only a little over five feet. Judge Travis, himself not a tall man, easily towered over the smaller landowner as he took the proffered handshake.

"Marcus, it is good to see you," Travis returned. "And from the looks of it you have been busy. The Square M looks amazing. Riding up, I wasn’t sure where the town ended and your property began! How many acres have you under your purview now?"

"Ah, mon vieil ami, you honor me with your words. But you know as well as I that it is not the size of the holding that matters, but how well it is put to use. And in that respect, I must admit to having some small skill in crafting gold out of lead." He winked and Judge Travis laughed.

"And some small ego to go along with it, eh Marcus?" 

Allen laughed as well, clapping a hand to the judge’s back. "It really is good to see you, it has been far too long. Come inside, I have your dinner all prepared. After, we can talk of old times and you can tell me a little of what you have been a witness to these past few years." 

Travis nodded, a great smile on his usually stoic face. His smile fell a little as he saw the large number of guards hovering just outside his vision. Marcus followed his gaze.

"Oh, please do not worry, Monsieur. As I expanded, I found it necessary to hire on some extra protection. This land is still greatly untamed, which I am sure you know, and there are thieves and Indians everywhere. In fact, it is related to that untamed aspect that I called you here. I am having some trouble with some squatters, and I need your advice. But, that is a discussion for later. Please, come inside. You will see that I have managed to bring civilization into the middle of nowhere. And I promise you will not be disappointed." He bowed again, and gestured for Travis to move ahead of him.

In response, Travis nodded his head in assent, the smile still on his face, though not as wide as before. Pleased, Marcus Allen bounced up the steps of his palatial home, following just behind the Judge.


	3. Passing the Bar

Ezra and Chris trotted back into Four Corners sometime after midnight. Ezra was exhausted, but the sight of Nathan sleeping on his balcony helped some. It was clear the healer felt the need to stay in constant watch over his patients, which meant there was still someone alive for him to be watching over.

Nathan was wakened by the noise of the travelers, and he held up a hand against the darkness. 

"Pray, Mr. Jackson," Ezra called up, his voice soft, "how are Miss Reed and her parents?" 

"She’s asleep," he replied, just as quietly. "As is her father, but Mrs. Reed is with Silace."

Chris bowed his head, then dismounted and moved towards the livery. Ezra stayed where he was on Chaucer’s back, gripping his hand in the horse’s coarse mane for comfort. He felt as if he couldn’t move. The Reeds had been such a perfect family—the kind he’d always wanted growing up, the kind he used to dream of having for his own if…if he hadn’t been who he was, or his mother who she was. They didn’t deserve this. 

Chris, realizing he was alone at the livery doors, stopped and looked back.

"Ezra," he called softly, "come on. Chaucer needs to rest."

This seemed to break into the gambler’s reverie. Taking in a deep breath, Ezra dismounted and moved to join his friend.  
_____________________________

Late afternoon the next day found all seven gathered in the saloon. Mary and Inez were watching over the sleeping Reed family so Ezra was behind the bar in his shirt sleeves, covering for Inez and listening to the others as they talked. He smiled to see how wide Nathan's grin was, the result of having both father and daughter wake up during the night and show real signs of healing. In contrast, Ezra's body was almost shaking with exhaustion as he wiped down the counter and cleaned glasses. He found an odd measure of comfort in the monotonous tasks, because the news that Buck and Vin had brought back about Allen was making him a sick to his stomach.

The boys had arrived back only about an hour before, having chosen to make a brief tour of the area around Allen’s ranch. In Meeksville, they told the others, the reach of the man’s control was obscene. He owned the town both physically and psychologically–the folk seemed almost terrified to speak about him in anything but overtly polite tones. They also saw many abandoned homes and ranches with Allen branded herds roaming around them. 

"You would have to see it to believe it, Chris. This guy Allen must own that whole valley, and probably more than a few of the neighboring townships as well. I would guess that the town of Meeksville is the least of his holdings." As Buck spoke, his hands danced animatedly in front of the group, trying to bring emphasis to his words. "Mary said something about him being up for some territorial appointment. The only thing preventing him from a higher political office is the fact that he’s an immigrant."

"It was only a matter of time before he decided to get a piece of Four Corners," Vin muttered, his quiet tone a stark contrast to that of his friend. Ezra almost didn’t hear it as he wandered over with a fresh pitcher of beer and another glass of milk.

"If he’s that powerful, why did he hire guys from Purgatory to do his dirty work?" JD asked as Ezra put the drinks down. "Why not just use his own men? He must have lots of guys working for him, like the ones who ran you two off."

"Because running people off is not strictly legal,” Ezra answered, handing the glasses around. “Evictions are supposed to go through a court procedure first, and then, if determined legal, the local sheriff is supposed to do the actual running off. But if some hired guns run people off after they’ve officially served them notice, then Allen can argue that they were just squatters who abandoned the land. That way, there is no legal mess to deal with." 

JD’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Really,” Ezra said, pouring beer from the pitcher into the mugs.

JD tilted his head. "Hey, how come you know so much about—?"

“How do you think, kid?” Nathan answered, not looking at the gambler. 

JD’s mouth formed an “oh,” and he frowned a little. Then he shook his head, frowning more. 

"You think Marcus Allen's done this before?" 

"I’d be surprised if he hasn’t," Buck sneered. "All it takes is enough money to make the lawmen in the area look away, and the land is his. Ain’t that right, Ezra?" He said this just as Ezra was refilling his beer mug, a tiny smirk on his face. The gambler felt their stares judging him as they waited for his answer and he repressed a sigh. He didn’t blame them; they knew who he was. Property was a surefire way to make money, if done right, and his mother had taught him the basics a long time ago. But this was the first time he’d felt shame about it. 

"Payoff money helps, yes," he said finally. He put the pitcher down, picked up the tray and walked back to the counter without saying anything more. He saw Chris watching him out of the corner of his eye, and tried to remember the pride he'd felt yesterday. It felt awfully remote right now.

"Well, I can’t believe Allen thinks he can get away with it in our backyard," JD spat. Then his posture changed, as a new thought came into his head. "Wait a minute, if he’s trying to buy Four Corners now, how come we haven’t heard from him before?" 

"He doesn’t think we are a threat yet," Chris answered quietly. "So far, he’s only attacked those bordering on his land. He probably figures we won’t go out of our way to protect those on the fringes. My guess is, once he feels he has a foothold in our territory, he’ll be by with money and promises within the week." 

"Well, he’s wrong. Dead wrong. He ain’t getting away with that in my town!” JD smacked the table with is fist. The others looked at him with amused faces. He looked puzzled. "What?"

Buck laughed, slapping JD hard on the back. "You're right on, kid. Mr. Allen is about to meet his match." Turning, he lifted an eyebrow at his oldest friend. "So what’s the plan, old dog?"

Chris answered by looking over his shoulder, to where Ezra was back dazedly cleaning glasses behind the bar. "Ezra, you want tell 'em what you've been doing?"

It was like magic, hearing that trust again, rejuvenating him. Feigning nonchalance at the question, Ezra put down the shot glass he’d been working on. "I…oh, hang on a moment gentlemen." He smiled as a man in a long gray duster pushed through the batwings and sidled up to the bar. "May I help you, sir?" 

"Whiskey," the man ordered, his voice still rough from travel. Ezra smiled again and served him the drink. 

"That all?" he asked, taking the man's change.

"Fer now."

With a nod, Ezra excused himself and returned to the Seven's table. With a heavy sigh, he plopped down in the empty seat, throwing the rag over his shoulder. 

"I spent the morning trying to track down the Judge, and telegraphing the county seat for information on Allen’s alleged title claims. I’ve not heard back yet." He paused, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "But I’ve also looked through the records here in town. As Hans Goldman told us, there are no deeds to the land he lives on in his name, but I did find records of the previous occupiers. I learned that both the Goldman ranch and that of the Reeds have been used for more than twenty years, and, even in the face of a real title, they can both claim ownership via adverse possession. Based on that, I telegrammed a friend to prepare the filings for injunction proceedings against the evictions in Santa Fe and sent all the evidence I had on it via the pony express about an hour ago. If she gets the evidence in the morning, which she should, she should have it filed by tomorrow." 

Most of the legal jargon clearly went over the other lawmen’s heads, but one thing in particular apparently occurred to Buck. "You got up before noon?" 

Ezra withered Buck’s smile with a glare. "I haven’t been to sleep, Mr. Wilmington. Now, I…" 

"Bartender," the man at the bar called, and Ezra glanced at him. Gray duster held up his empty whiskey glass.

"Right with you," Ezra promised, standing. He was about to say something more when two more new people had entered the saloon. "I’ll be with you in a moment, gentlemen," he called to the newcomers. They nodded and headed to the bar, standing to either side of the man in the gray duster. 

Ezra leaned forward on the Seven's table, placing his palms down on top of it, lowering his voice a little. "The problem, gentlemen, is that legal means take time, and I can’t guarantee that the papers will ever be received by the county surveyors. We do not know the reach of Mr. Allen." He shrugged. "Our only hope is that my contact can get around them, and that Judge Travis arrives quickly and agrees to place the injunction on Mr. Allen’s proceedings. Until then…" A crooked smile crossed his face, and he patted the Remington at his side. "We’ll have to rely on our wits." With that, he turned to take care of the new customers.   
__________________________________________

Chris watched Ezra head back to the bar, and knew full well that the gambler was feeling pretty full of himself right now. The man was as mercurial as a cat—a few minutes before, he'd been certain that Ezra was about to collapse on the bar, but now he was as animated as JD as he talked to the strangers. 

He'd never understand the man. 

"So, what next?" Buck asked Chris. "Does 'using our wits' mean what I think it means?"

Chris nodded. "We'll head out to the Goldmans tomorrow. When we get there—"

He stopped because Vin had held up a hand. He followed the tracker’s gaze to the people Ezra was tending. Immediately, he saw what Vin had—that the newcomers seemed increasingly ill-at-ease, as if they didn’t belong.

"You know them?" Chris asked the tracker quietly. Vin shook his head. Chris glanced at the other men at his table, and they all made the same negative motion. Chris looked back at Vin, his eyes narrowed. 

"Just got a feeling," Vin told him, but he withdrew the Winchester strapped to his leg. 

Ezra was chatting pleasantly to the newcomers as he placed three fresh shots of whiskey in front of them. Then the one in the gray duster leaned over and grabbed Ezra’s forearm when he turned away, drawing him back. He whispered something and Ezra’s eyebrows lifted.

“I assure you, sir,” he told the stranger, raising his voice to be clearly heard, “I would if I could, but attorney-client privilege prevents me. If you’ll excuse me.” He tried to pull his arm free, but the man held fast and the other two drew back their jackets to rest hands on their guns. Gray duster whispered to Ezra again.

“The law?” Ezra replied, lifting his head and smiling brightly. “Why, yes sir, I know them well. And I don’t think they’d take too kindly to how you’re holding my arm.” With that, he pulled it free with greater force, resulting in the white shirt fabric being ripped. Ezra sighed, looking down at the rip as he backed out of grabbing range. “Damn it, that’s another one ruined.” He looked up, his gaze as steady as when he accuses a man of cheating at his table. “I believe you owe me a new shirt.”

“Is that so?” the man in the gray duster asked, finally raising his voice to a normal level. “And who’s gonna make sure I pay?” 

The sounds of five pistols and the distinctive cocking of a Mare’s Leg turned the stranger around.

“Them,” Ezra said, smirking now. “By the way, they’re the law you were looking for.”

"Aw, shit," gray duster muttered.

"Who are you?" Chris growled in a voice that brooked no argument. Gray duster's expression darkened, but he kept his hands away from his guns and on the bar, even holding onto his whiskey.

"Look, fellas, we don't want no trouble,” he said, keeping his tone even. “We’re just passing through."

Chris looked at the gambler. "Ezra?"

"He said he wanted to know what we were talking about when they came in. When I didn't tell him, he then offered to pay me to tell him where the Reeds are, and if I thought the law here could be bought." As he spoke, he drew his Remington. “This might be a tad presumptuous, but I suspect he works for a bad man.”

Gray duster didn't hide his surprise at that, his eyes darting back and forth between all the guns now pointed at him. "Look I'm not gonna say who we work for," he said. "But I swear, we ain't here for trouble. Honest. We’ll just leave, okay?"

"Not until you tell us who you are and your employer's name," Chris stated, stepping forward to stand near the end of the bar. 

"I can’t," gray duster stuttered. Chris looked at Ezra, and, for a brief second, Ezra shifted his gaze. The tiny distraction was enough. With speed that can only be attributed to pure panic, gray duster threw his whiskey into the gambler’s face and pulled his gun. Ezra’s Remington went off, but the gambler's aim was off due to the burning liquid in his eyes, and the bullet went straight up into the rafters. He ducked behind the bar to avoid getting hit as gunfire erupted around him. 

Gray duster fired at Larabee and ducked behind one of his compatriots, a much larger man who had also drawn despite looking like he really didn’t want to. The third turned and dived for a table to use as cover, upending it as Buck and Vin's guns filled the wood with bullet holes.

The large, hapless man got the brunt, bullets riddling him as gray duster used him as a shield, pulling him with him towards a window. The one behind the table took a chance and tried to get to another table, only to be cut down almost instantly. 

By then, gray duster had reached the farthest window—firing off the last of his bullets, he let go of his burden and dove out through the glass, shards scattering everywhere. Seconds later he was on his horse, galloping out of town half bent over the saddle, until he was just a dust cloud on the horizon.

Chris and Vin had followed him out, and Vin muttered a swear as he lowered his gun. Chris shook his head. 

"What the hell was that?" he asked. 

"You said they'd come," Vin reminded him. Chris sneered and shoved his way back through the batwings into the ruined saloon. Stepping over the dead outlaw, he walked up to the bar and leaned over it to see Nathan attempting to wash Ezra's face with a wet towel. Ezra was bright red, looking about ready to--

"Mr. Jackson, please! Off!" the gambler yelled, shoving the rag away and standing up. Chris had to smile; he'd seen that coming.

Blinking constantly, Ezra groaned when he surveyed the damage to the bar. “Oh no, she’s going to kill—“

“Madre de Dios!” Inez shouted as she stormed through the doors. She wagged a finger at Ezra as she strode towards him, stepping over the body in the middle of the floor without even a glance. "I leave you in charge for one day, _one day_ , and look what you do! Can’t you deal with the bastards outside one of these times? All you have to do is say, ‘let’s take this outside,’ and they will go. Oh no, you have to shoot up the saloon. Always the saloon!" Spewing a string of Spanish invectives, she pushed Ezra aside and grabbed the bar towel from Nathan’s hands. Furiously, she stalked around the room, picking up chairs and replacing tables, almost spitting nails when she saw the one the outlaw had used for cover. 

Chris glanced at the others, who were all actually looking oddly sheepish. Only Buck didn’t seem to feel embarrassed. He was watching Inez with what absolute adoration. 

Picking up his jacket from the coat rack near the front of the bar, Ezra backed up and smiled at the others. 

"Gentleman, perhaps it'd best if we continue our discussion in the jail?"  
______________________________

The sun was dropping in the sky over the Square M ranch, flooding the valley with deep orange sunlight. In the mansion that rose up above it all, lying on a ridge at the westernmost end of the valley, Judge Travis was stretching his legs out before him, sighing contentedly as he puffed on his cigar. He was currently ensconced in a large plush divan in one of the many parlors that dotted Marcus Allen’s home. This one had a red theme, and appeared to be Marcus’s favorite. Content as a result of several large glasses of red wine, he pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and looked across at his old friend.

Marcus was leaning forward on a divan identical to the Judge’s and was watching the fire in front of him intently. Alternating shades of red and orange played across the other man’s face, deepening the Frenchman’s pale features, and his eyes glowed with reflected flame. Realizing he was being studied, Marcus looked over at the Judge, a smile lighting up his features.

Travis returned the smile, taking another puff on his cigar before looking casually up at the ceiling. "Well, Marcus, I must say that you did not lie when you described this beautiful place. C’est magnifique."

"Merci, mon ami," Marcus replied, settling back himself.

"However, I must unfortunately leave your humble abode soon, as my duties call." Travis left the statement open ended, and was not disappointed when Marcus picked up on the unspoken question.

"Of course, my friend. I told you I asked you here for business as well as pleasure, and I suppose the time for the former has arrived." He sighed mightily, and took a long steadying draw on the cigar before continuing. Travis glanced across at his friend. When Marcus spoke, his words came out as if he were dealing with a tremendous burden.

"I realize, Orrin, that your circuit covers territories mostly outside my ranch, to the North and East of it, to be exact. However, you may not know that part of my land also resides within the scope of your jurisdiction." He paused, and looked across at Travis. The Judge didn’t respond, his face blank but open. "Well," the Frenchman continued, "I just wanted you to know that I am considering taking action against some squatters who have set themselves up on that land. I understand that one family has already vacated, but I seem to be having some trouble with the other two."

Travis sat up, a strange nagging in his gut that warned him things were not as they seemed. "If they are merely squatters, Marcus, I do not see any trouble in asking some of my boys to give you a hand, if that is what you are asking." His brow furrowed as he watched the Frenchman's face, then, abruptly, he shook himself. This was one of his oldest friends, a man he had known since his college days in the East. He would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh, that won’t be necessary, Orrin," Marcus smiled, waving his cigar hand dismissively. The smoke coming from its end swirled in pretty clouds at the motion. "I can deal with my own troubles. I simply did not want any of your ‘boys,’ as you call them, getting themselves unnecessarily involved. It is a private matter, and I am assured that it is nearing solution. My best negotiators are working fair settlements."

Travis shrugged. "As you wish, Marcus. But I am sure they would not mind. Otherwise, consider yourself at liberty to deal with the squatters as you see fit." He smiled. “As long as you stay within the law, of course.” 

“Of course,” Marcus replied, smiling as well. “I always do. You know me, old friend; I’d never do anything to jeopardize your opinion of me.”

The Judge smiled again, settling back on the divan and closed his eyes. _The wine was definitely going to his head._   
___________________________________

Moments later, quiet snores emanated from the Judge’s divan. Marcus leaned forward again, a satisfied look on his face as he looked at his sleeping friend. 

A small knock on the door brought his head up. Mildly annoyed, Marcus got up and quietly stepped over to the door and into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. One of his foreman, a large grizzled man with a scar across his brow, was waiting for him, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked nervous.

"What is it, Jace?" Allen asked, coldly. He did not appreciate being interrupted while insinuating himself with the man he felt might be the biggest obstacle to his Eastern expansion. Jace swallowed hard, trying to avoid the stern gaze of his boss.

"Um, the men you sent to Four Corners, sir….Two are dead, and the last, Carl, well…" Jace licked his lips. "He’s dying."

"What?" Allen spat. "How the hell did that happen? They were merely supposed to go for information!"

Jace shrugged, his eyes focused on the hat in his hands, which he was slowly spinning around by its brim. "All I know is, Carl came in a few minutes ago, nearly falling off his horse ‘cause he'd been shot. He’s pretty messed up, and Doc don’t know if he’s going to survive all the blood loss."

"Did he say anything?"

"Sir?" Jace asked, looking up. “About what?”

"I need to know if he learned anything new," Allen explained, annoyed. "I need to be sure there isn't anything about that town that I might've missed."

"Oh, yes. Apparently, the town is taking care of the Reeds. They’re not totally dead yet, sir."

Allen swore, his gray eyes looking almost black in the dim light of the hallway. "What else?" he growled.

"He said something about the bartender talking legal stuff with the town peacekeepers. He overheard him talking about an injunction 'gainst the evictions."

Allen looked surprised. "Bartender? What would a bartender know about the law?"

"That's what I asked, but Carl said that's what he was. Said he sounded really sure of himself about protecting the families, too. Talked real fancy legal jargon. So, maybe he's also a lawyer? Wouldn't be the first time someone had two jobs."

Allen frowned, and looked behind him at the door to the red parlor. Had Travis hired a lawyer for the town? He would have sworn no one had that position last time they'd surveyed it. Still, lawyers were rarely fools—it just meant another payoff. He turned back to his foreman. "Did Carl manage to catch a name of this bartending lawyer?"

Jace nodded. "Ezra."

Allen pondered this, still frowning. "Anything else?"

"Just that the rumor that seven men protect that town ain't a rumor. He said…" Jace licked his lips, as if nervous. "…that maybe it might be best to leave them alone."

Allen smirked at that. "Oh, no need to worry about them. They'll be taken care of soon enough. Now go fetch Matthews for me, will you?" 

Jace didn't need to be told twice, looking relieved to be able to leave. As he watched him go, Allen leaned against the door, thinking about his plans. He needed this foothold in Travis' circuit. Once he had that, he'd have a piece of every county in the territory, and with that sort of influence, controlling the territory would be easy. 

After a couple of minutes, Allen started to get annoyed, and he pulled out the silver timepiece he wore at his belt. He didn’t want Orrin waking up in the room without him there; it wouldn’t be gentlemanly. His anger simmered, and he had to take a few deep breaths to bring himself back under control. When he heard the rapid footsteps of Matthews coming towards him, recognizing the man by his uneven gait, he was calm once more.

A man of medium height, dressed entirely in black, came to stand attention in front of his boss. This man was no ranch hand, as was evidenced by the rifle strapped to his back and the twin colts that hung from his belt. Like a certain peacekeeper, Matthews wore a long black duster over his clothes, and a soft black Stetson hat. He lifted it up in order to see the Frenchman more easily, revealing half-lidded blue eyes.

Marcus regarded the man in front of him with satisfaction. Deacon Matthews was one of the most dangerous men in the territory--the words "cold" and "efficient" coming to mind as men described him. The man’s limp, the result of an old knife wound, hadn’t slowed the outlaw down. Instead, it had done the opposite, driving Matthews to become even more ruthless. 

"You wanted to see me," the outlaw stated in gravelly tones. Something else interesting about the man, he never raised his voice. Often, it forced his listeners to lean in to hear him, and Matthews used that to his advantage several times.

"Yes," Allen confirmed, "after you destroy the Goldman home, I want you to take some men into Four Corners and find a bartender named Ezra. He's playing lawyer for the Reeds. Offer him the same we gave the Sheriff in Cactus Town, and if he doesn’t agree, kill him. Then find out where the Reeds are hiding. I want them dead and forgotten." 

Matthews nodded, tipped his hat at the landowner, leaving as quietly as he'd approached. Marcus shook off the cold feeling he always got when in close proximity to the outlaw, and sighed. Plastering on a smile, he turned to reenter the red parlor and greet his "old friend."


	4. Literally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be some swearing in this chapter, just a mild warning. ;)

The Goldmans arrived in town Saturday around noon, Hans grumpily leading the wagon. He pulled up next to the livery, where the Seven were gathered awaiting his arrival. 

"I thank you," he said, sounding less than grateful, "for what you are doing. I would, however, like to reiterate my request that I come with you. It is my home, and I should be the one to defend—"

"Actually," Chris said, cutting him off, "we're going to need you here."

That earned a frown, and his wasn't the only one. Nathan was standing on the steps leading up to his clinic with an expression even more unhappy.

"Why?" Hans asked suspiciously. "Because if this is some attempt to placate—"

"We need you here to help Nathan protect the Reeds," Chris answered. "We had some unexpected visitors the other night, and we don't know how much information they may have provided to Allen. They may come after the Reeds here to finish them off. Nathan is staying behind to not only make sure the Reeds continue to heal, but to protect them and you if any men make it past us. I am asking you to be the person to back him up."

Hans blinked a few times, absorbing that, then grimaced as if tasting something unpleasant. "I understand," he agreed. "He has my word that I will help."

"Thank you," Chris said. Hans inclined his head once more, then clicked the wagon forward, his wife and sons watching them all as Hans drove towards the boarding house. He caught Buck's wink out of the corner of his eye and shook his head.

"Right, let's move out," he said. "I want to be at the Goldmans before dark."

"I still don't like the idea of being left behind, Chris," Nathan said suddenly, arms still fully crossed where he stood on the steps. "What if one of you needs doctoring?"

Chris sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he turned to look at the healer. "Nathan, we've already talked about this."

"And I still don't like it."

"Someone has to—"

"You said if it wasn't me, you'd have picked Ezra to stay. Well, he's clearly still exhausted, at least as bad as me, and the families know him better than I do. Besides he's still waiting to hear that those claims have been filed." He stared at the gambler. "After all, shouldn't we have heard yesterday about those?"

Ezra didn't answer immediately, but his expression spoke volumes. Chris frowned at that. Ezra had promised the claims would be filed by his supposed "contact"—but nothing had come, not even a note that the evidence had been received. He didn't want to doubt Ezra on this, but it didn't bode well.

"Nothing can be filed on a weekend," Ezra finally answered Nathan, speaking slowly. "Which means there's nothing more I can do until Monday. You, however, are clearly useful here. I'll be more useful as a gun." 

Nathan's frown deepened.

"Nathan," Chris said. "Decision's made. You stay."

Nathan heaved a breath, and finally unloosed his arms. "Fine. But I don't like you riding out to a battle without me."

"We'll be fine," Buck promised, all smiles as he slid up onto his grey's back. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Did you really have to say that?" Ezra whined, mounting Chaucer and patting the chestnut's hide. 

"You seeing your crows, Josiah?" Vin called from where Peso was already pawing at the earth, ready to go.

"Always, brother Vin," the preacher replied, smiling. "But not today."

"Let's ride," Chris said, turning his big black around and kicking him into a gallop. "Daylight's burning!" 

He could feel Nathan's eyes on them as they rode out—he didn’t deny the feeling that leaving Nathan behind felt wrong—that, in fact, a lot of things about this whole affair made him uneasy--but needs must when the devil drives.  
________________________________________

Unknowingly echoing the sentiment of his best friend the next day, Vin couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they were missing something. It had only grown over the course of the last twelve hours, since arriving at the now quiet Goldman ranch last night. Under the nearly perfect blue sky that warmed him in his position atop the Goldman's large barn, he felt as cold as if someone was walking over his grave.

And he knew he wasn't the only one. They'd joked yesterday, but it had been forced—even JD, whose confidence in them was unshakeable, had looked nervous. They were all uneasy, aware that something different about this one, and it wasn't the odds. Vin just couldn't figure out what it was that felt wrong.

Sighing, he swiveled atop his perch, checking the rifle and mare's leg and the extra ammunition near his seat, and then put the spyglass to his eye once more. He checked each of his friends first—to make sure they were still ready.

The plan, as Chris laid it out, was to have them covering all angles of the ranch. Chris and Ezra would remain in the house, to distract the outlaws and encourage them to ride up into the large front yard so that that the barn would be behind them. Vin and Josiah would flank them from the barn. Buck and JD would stay over by a large grouping of rocks to the east of the house, for cover, and to prevent anyone from heading towards Four Corners after this was over. No one was sure whether the spy from yesterday had gotten back to Allen, or if he had even learned that the Paul Reed and his daughter were still alive, but they weren’t going to take any chances.

They'd guessed the assault would take place at noon—the time the Goldmans were told to vacate—and noon would be the right amount of time for a large group to ride out of Purgatory at dawn to get here. 

It was a solid plan—pretty predictable for Larabee to be honest—but Vin was still certain that there was something wrong with it. Something they hadn't considered.

He turned in a full circle with the spyglass, scanning all the horizons, including the top of the massive cliff overlooking the home, hoping in part that it would help trigger the answer. 

It was on his third such sweep, the sun in the sky telling him it was close to eleven, when he saw movement on top of the cliff overlooking the home. Focusing the glass, he frowned to see about five men up there, staring down at the property. He should be too far away for them to see him clearly (unless one of them also had a spyglass), but even so he tried to make himself as small as possible to blend in with the wood of the roof, putting his spyglass away in case it reflected light back at them. He started knocking on the wooden slats to get Josiah's attention. 

A couple of seconds later, he heard Josiah’s muffled voice calling to him from the hayloft, asking what was wrong. 

"Men on the cliff," Vin answered. "Five. No idea why they’re even up there. It’s too far away to fire something at the house, even a cannon."

"Reconnaissance, maybe?"

"Maybe."

“They see you?”

“Don't think so.”

"Anyone coming from the South or West?"

Vin swiveled around and squinted in the sunlight. He swore as he realized he could see a dust cloud forming just beyond the Goldmans pastures.

"I’ll take that as a yes," Josiah called, having obviously heard Vin’s use of his favorite expletive. 

"Yeah. Lots of dust from the south. Tell the boys to get ready. They're less than an hour out." He looked back at the cliff, and swore again. 

"What?" Josiah called.

"The men on the cliff. They’re gone. They must be coming down. Warn the others that they might be coming from the east—Buck and Vin may get them at their back." With a tightening in his gut, Vin pulled out his Winchester and prepared for the upcoming assault.

Then, oddly, Josiah called out to him again. "Vin?"

"What?"

"Is that cliff solid rock? There look to be a lot of caves in it besides the one the Goldmans are using as an ice-house."

Vin didn’t answer for a moment, trying to figure out what it was Josiah wanted to know. 

"No, it's not solid. It’s mostly clay and limestone, like the cliffs the Indians used for cave dwellings. So, like the ones you can see, it's riddled with tiny caves that extend up from that main one, some going all the way to the top; I nearly twisted my ankle in one when I was up there yesterday. But they’re too small for anyone to crawl down, if that’s what you’re thinking—they won't come that way. And it's too high up to make any men shooting from the cliff to be a threat." 

“Then why were they up there?”

“Getting the lay of the land, like you said.” Vin trained his spyglass on the growing dust cloud to the south. “There’s fifteen riders coming from Purgatory way. That’s close to twenty with the men I saw before. You'd best go warn the others."

A moment later, he saw Josiah jogging up the yard towards Chris. Nodding, he looked up again at the cliff, trying to see if anyone was still up there. No one was visible, but still, it nagged as to why they'd gone up there. 

And his gut churned even more.  
_______________________________

Fifteen outlaws rode into the homestead, going straight past the barn and into the massive yard to position themselves in front of the house. Ezra watched them ride up from his second story window at the corner of the house, which was the only place where he could see both them and the black clad gunslinger sitting on the porch swing, moving slowly back and forth, his face hidden by his hat.

The gambler sighted down the rifle barrel at what he presumed to be the leader of the outlaws. At the same time, from the east, four more men rode up to join the others. Ezra immediately switched his aim to the man in black that headed them up. He smirked slightly—he and Chris must go to the same tailor.

The obvious leader calmed his horse, and pushed his hat up from his face. "Hans Goldman," he called to the house. "My name is Deacon Matthews. You have been asked to vacate this property, and you have not. I will give you one more chance. Leave now, or we will remove you by force."

Chris mimicked the motion of pushing his hat back and favored Matthews with a cold stare. He stood up deliberately slowly, his long rifle dropping deceptively loose by his side, the sun glinting off the handle. 

"Sorry, Matthews, but the Goldmans are not leaving. They are under the protection of the law of Four Corners, and will remain so until this matter has been dealt with legally. That means you're trespassing on private property. I would suggest that you leave now."

A snicker arose from a few of the men behind Matthews, amused at the audacity of this one man, but a few of the others began to glance warily around the area. Ezra knew the Seven had a growing reputation in Purgatory—Jock Steele had seen to that, but former hires of James and Royal had probably cemented it.

Still, he was also curious about this man Matthews. He couldn't help that thinking, from up here, Matthews and Chris could be twins. All he could really see was the top of the men’s hats, and part of him hoped Matthews would take his hat off soon so he could see the outlaw’s face more clearly. Other than a glimpse of a nose and an ugly smile, he had yet to really see the man's eyes.

Matthews snorted. "Law of Four Corners, eh? Yeah, I had a feeling that was you. Chris Larabee, right? How many men you got in there, backing you up? Let me guess -- six?"

"Maybe," Chris replied. "How many men you got with you? Because looks like some of them have already thought better about going up against me and my men."

Sure enough, a few outlaws had already peeled off and were hightailing it back to Purgatory. Ezra had to smile. 

"Oh, don't mind them," Matthews cocked his head. "They're obviously useless. And I'm afraid it's really just too late for the law. My men made a promise to the family at this homestead. If they did not leave by noon today, we would bury them, and I usually keep my promises."

Chris sneered. "You're certainly welcome to try." 

Matthews suddenly flashed a grin, "Okay then." Suddenly, he pulled back on his horse, causing the animal to rear, and startling Chris. The outlaw used the distraction to pull his gun, shouting "Kill them all!" at the top of his lungs as he did so.

Chris was already moving. He lifted his rifle, firing off several shots before diving inside the front door. One man to Matthew's left went down immediately, and Matthews himself cried out as a bullet from Ezra’s gun hit his arm. The outlaw growled, shooting up towards the second floor windows, barely missing the gambler as Ezra hid himself again as shot-up window glass showered him. 

Firing exploded on all sides then, and the outlaws spun in circles for a moment, creating chaos, before a good number, including Matthews, turned and galloped south. Clearly on orders, about half stayed behind to give Matthews time to get away, using the melee as cover. 

But what was odd was that most of them stayed on their horses, making them easier targets. It was like a turkey shoot—they couldn't get out of their own way. As Ezra sent another outlaw to St. Peter's mercy, he tried to understand why they weren't getting to cover, there was plenty around. Why would they…?

"Ezra! Get…house…! Get…" 

Ezra stopped shooting at the sound of Vin shouting his name, and looked down towards the barn. Vin was standing up, waving his arms wildly and yelling, but Ezra couldn't make it out. What the hell was that fool doing? Trying to get himself shot?  
_________________________________

Vin couldn't hear the conversation up at the homestead, but he could see the nervousness of the men in the back. They'd been nervous the moment they'd ridden in. But why? Why be nervous about scaring off a young family?

Unless….

Unless the outlaws were looking for the ambush. 

Vin's eyes widened. Of course. He was an idiot! The outlaws knew they'd be here, even before Chris had stood up to talk to them. Matthews had been expecting this! 

That was what was bothering him. He'd thought it odd that Allen had staggered the evictions—why give the Goldmans more time than the Reeds? 

Because Allen had known the Seven would find out about the Reeds, convince the Goldmans to leave, and come out here to protect the ranch. 

But then why ride right up the house? If they knew, why…?

As if hearing his thoughts, a handful of men suddenly peeled off and took off south, their eyes wide with terror. And no shots had even been fired yet. What the hell?

At that instant, something in Vin’s mind clicked. 

"Bury them" he whispered, looking up at the cliff with horror as the first shots were fired between Chris and Matthews. "Shit. He meant it literally!" As if mocking his slowness, he put the glass to his eye, ignoring the cacophony of gunshots and screaming horses erupting from the yard. Atop the cliff, a single man was running around, throwing sparkling red sticks into holes. Vin leapt to his feet, waving his arms and shouted to the house. 

“Get out! Get out of the house!”

His shout cued the outlaws still alive in the yard to twist their horses around, some of them looking up at him, but not a one bothering to fire in his direction. Because they knew. As if he had cued them, they kicked their horses hard and took off away from the house.

Shit, shit, shit! 

“GET OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW!” Vin shouted, waving his arms wildly. "GET—" 

Horses suddenly whinnied from behind the barn, and Vin stumbled as he felt the whole structure creak with the opening of the massive back doors. He ran across the shingles to the other side in time to see all the Seven's horses being driven out of the rear of the barn by two men on horseback, the strangers whipping and shouting at the horses to move, sending them south towards the pastures. 

"Josiah," he whispered. Josiah was down there guarding the horses! "Josiah!" he shouted, running back to the front of the barn. "Jo—" He stopped yelling as Josiah staggered out into the open, holding a hand to his bleeding head. In the distance, Buck and JD were still firing after the escaping outlaws, completely unaware of what was happening over the din of their guns. 

"Josiah!" Vin shouted. When the preacher looked up, Vin waved. "We have to get to cover, to…to…" He looked around desperately, then pointed towards Buck and JD. "There! Get to the boulders! Now!" He looked at the house. Chris was standing in the doorway of the house, and was looking up at him. "Damn it, Larabee!" With every bit of volume he could tear from his lungs, Vin shouted. 

"RUN!"  
___________________________________

"RUN!"

Chris' eyes widened. He had no idea why, but he wasn't going to question. He waved a hand to show he understood and shouted up to the second floor. "Ezra, we gotta get out of here! Something's wrong! Run!" 

"Get to the rocks!" Vin shouted, his voice still pretty faint from this distance, but clear now that the firing had stopped.

"We have to get to the rocks!" Chris repeated for Ezra. 

He hesitated only until he heard Ezra's feet on the stairs, then bolted out of the door and into the yard, jumping over the couple of bodies that had fallen in the melee. Looking over his shoulder, he glimpsed Ezra jumping down the stairs and into entry hall, maybe twenty feet behind him. 

At that instant, an enormous explosion from above threw them both off their feet. 

Sprawled in the grass, Chris looked up, staring with astonishment as the cliff face started to crumble. More explosions sounded, spraying enormous clouds of dust and stone outwards from the peach colored stone. As if in slow motion, the whole thing began to slide downwards, heading straight for the house. He got to his feet, feeling as if he were stuck in molasses, his legs shaking. Up at the house, he spotted the gambler shaking his head as if it'd hit something. 

“Ezra!” Chris shouted, staggering as the ground below his feet started to shake. “Move! Hurry!” 

Breaking into a stumbling run, he made for the boulders, understanding now why Vin had pointed them there—they should stand up to the onslaught of dirt and rock about to sweep over them. But both the boulders and the barn now appeared incredibly far away as opposed to only a few hundred yards, and his legs felt weak and thin atop the undulating ground. 

"Help! Please!" a voice called weakly from nearby, one of the outlaws that had been shot but wasn't dead. The man reached for Chris and the gunslinger hesitated.

"Move!" Vin shouted as he burst out of the barn, as if he could read Chris' mind. "No time! Ez! Larabee! Move your lazy asses!" 

The words propelled him forward, energizing him, needing to catch up with Vin just to beat him for calling him lazy. As if mocking him, Vin bee-lined towards Josiah and lifted the struggling older man up and over his shoulder, adrenaline obviously giving Vin the strength to carry their friend and run at the same time. 

Suddenly, the ground seemed to heave and Chris was staggering again. JD and Buck were at the rocks already, waving at him and Ezra to hurry, but the ground was quaking, shaking, making it hard for Chris to keep his footing. His only chance was to reach the barn Vin had just left and hope it held up.

He heard Ezra cry out. Chris turned in time to see the gambler topple and roll under the first rocks from the avalanche, as if he were nothing more than dice thrown across a craps table, rock dust enveloping him until there was nothing to see but a fog of red. And just as suddenly, the red dust was everywhere, cutting off Chris' air and sight--he made it only a few more steps, just managing to reach the doors of the barn and inside, before something massive and hard slammed into his back….  
__________________________________________

JD and Buck had already gotten beneath the overhang of one of the larger rocks. Vin and Josiah reached it next, ducking into the shelter, Vin all but dumping the preacher onto the ground below the overhang. 

"Get your heads down!" Vin ordered, partially covering Josiah with his body.

Buck grabbed Vin's arm. "Did you see if--?"

The rest of his shout was swallowed up by noise as loud as a hundred cannons, and red dust filled the air, causing him and the others to cough and choke. Instinctively, all four men buried their heads in their arms and pressed against the boulders while clouds of stone and ash billowed over them, pelting them with pebbles and small stones.  
____________________________

The explosion echoed all the way to Four Corners, bringing a large number of townsfolk to the streets. Everyone faced to the southwest, looking for some visible sign of the massive noise that had just rocked the town. Hans Goldman pulled his wife into his arms, and she buried her face in his chest. Both knew exactly where that explosion had occurred.

And so did Nathan. He stood rooted on the balcony, hands gripping the wooden banister, staring towards where his friends had gone. It felt like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest.  
______________________________

Though the whole event probably took only a few minutes, it felt like hours to the men cowering behind the rocks. But, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The dust settled, leaving a fine layer over everyone, blending them into the earth around them. Coughing fits racked each of them, burning their lungs and throats even as the air started to clear. 

When the sun finally broke through the haze, the relieved men blinked at each other, happy to be alive. Buck and JD handed around their canteens, all of them taking long draughts to try to clear the dust out of their mouths.

Vin checked on Josiah's head, to determine the damage. Awake and blinking, the preacher tried to apologize—they'd snuck up on him in the barn and knocked him down, all so they could free the horses inside. Vin shook his head, about to say it wasn't his fault when Buck’s angry yelling caused him to look up. 

"You bastard! You sick bastard!" Buck shouted, his hands around the throat of an outlaw that had apparently chosen to hide behind the same set of rocks. He must've lost his mount in the chaos, and, like them, had guessed the ancient boulder formation was the only possible place of safety.

"I swear," the outlaw was gasping, his hands gripping the ones around his throat. "I didn’t know! We were told that we were just shoot up the house, just like last time. No one said anything about dynamiting a cliff! Please, God, you have to believe me! I didn't know until just before you all started firing—I swear!" 

Buck threw him down, and looked to JD for handcuffs. But JD was on his feet, looking back in the direction of the house. He stood completely still, as if unaware of his surroundings, his face pale. As one, with Josiah leaning heavily on the boulder, the rest of the peacekeepers stood up to view the damage.

"Oh my God," Josiah whispered. 

The house was gone, buried under a pile of rocks about twenty feet high. Rocks and boulders filled the yard between it and the barn which, amazingly enough, was still standing. An oppressive silence seemed to fill the air, broken only by the occasional sound of pebbles skittering along some of the larger stones.

The cliff face was demolished, revealing cave riddled stone. Trees hung off the top edge, some on the brink of falling down, with roots and dirt sticking out into the open air near the top. As they watched, dirt and smaller stones continued to run down the exposed red streaked stone, falling down towards the ground below. Everything that had been at the base of the cliff was gone—the well, the garden, the grotto—all totally buried.

“Where are they?” JD asked, his voice cracking. “Did they make it?”

Vin cupped his hands around his lips. "Chris! Ezra!"

"Chris!" Buck shouted. "Ez!"

"Oh god," JD whispered. "Oh god, it can't…this can't—" 

Coughing broke the scary stillness of the buried yard, and a black clothed arm appeared around the edge of the barn.

"Chris!" JD shouted. "It's Chris!" 

Vin was instantly in motion, clambering over the rocks as quickly as possible. Broken from his reverie, JD glanced at Buck, who was still holding onto his outlaw, and rapidly pulled the handcuffs out of his belt. Snapping the cuffs on, they left the man with Josiah and began scrambling over the rocks after Vin.

Using both hands to brace himself against the broken entrance to the barn, Chris struggled to his feet and out into the open air, shaking the dust from his head. Blinking, he looked around at the damage and fell against the closest rock. Vin reached him a moment later, firing questions at him about where he was hurt. Pushing a shaky hand through his dust streaked blond hair, Chris obviously found it difficult to make sense of his thoughts as he tried to answer. 

"No…nothing…nothing’s broken. I don't…uh…might have wrenched my knee." He peered vaguely down at his right leg. Vin bent down, poking and prodding the offending limb, but Chris wasn’t paying attention anymore. He looked back towards the house, then down at Vin's head. "Ezra?" he whispered. "I saw…I saw him fall. He wasn't far behind me."

Vin's eyes lifted to meet the gunslinger's, open and worried because he didn’t have an answer. To be honest, when they didn't make the rocks, he thought both men were dead. It was sheer luck that the barn hadn't fallen on top Chris. But if Ezra had been out in the open…

"Find him," Chris ordered, his tone brooking no excuses. He looked across at Buck, who was searching the rocks with his eyes. "He was right behind me. Ten yards, maybe. I saw him fall somewhere…" He blinked. "I don't know." He looked at Vin, who was looking as well now. "Find him."

Vin nodded, squinting in the direction of the house, then carefully began climbing over the rocks to head that way. Buck randomly chose another direction, calling Ezra's name worriedly. JD, his face paling even under the dust covering his face, just climbed up onto the tallest rock in the nearby rubble.

"Ez?" The kid started to shake, desperation strengthening his voice, "Ez! EZ!" He jumped to another rock, one that looked even higher, ignoring the way it shifted and slid in favor of the better vantage point. "EZZZ! EZZZZ!"

"Mr. Dunne," an angry voice hoarsely replied from about twenty yards to the west, "would you please stop using that infernal nickname. You sound like an inebriated bumblebee."

"Ezra!" JD yelled happily, jumping across the rocks to make his way towards the voice. Vin and Buck quickly changed direction, both unable to keep the relieved smiles from their faces. Ezra pulled himself unsteadily to his feet at the same moment, leaning heavily on the boulders around him for purchase. JD reached him a second later, jumping to get an arm under his friend.

"Man, Ezra, you okay? You look like hell!"

Ezra snorted. "Really, JD? Tell me, how is one supposed to look after a mountain falls on them?" 

Buck chuckled at the comment, reaching Ezra's side at the same moment. Without preamble, he began asking the gambler the same questions Vin had asked Chris, along with the same poking and prodding. Unlike his stalwart leader, however, Ezra was not about to put up with Buck's ministrations. He batted his friend's hands away like a willful child. 

"Honestly, Mr. Wilmington, JD may sound like an annoying insect, but you act like one. Get off me before I… Ooof." Ezra’s knees seemed to suddenly give out, his left hand moving to his head. Buck and JD were both there to catch him. “Oh, the world is spinning. Whoa, that's most unpleasant. Nathan, can you make it stop?” 

"Nathan's not here, Ez," Buck reminded as he helped steer Ezra gingerly out of the rock slide. 

"Oh, right. That might've been a poor choice that our leader made. Is it too late to change my vote and stay behind?"

JD snickered. "You hurt anywhere beside your head?" he asked.

"Probably, but I'll put up with all of it if you get me out of here and stop the spinning."

Vin had stopped a few feet away, listening to their conversation like a salve on a wound. He turned and looked back at Chris, to see the gunslinger's slightly dazed expression, but Chris too was smiling. 

He didn't believe in such things, but Vin knew that if Josiah had been standing there with him, he'd be saying something about miracles.


	5. Mistaken Identities

Sometime later, they were all leaning against the rocks where they’d left Josiah. Ezra sat with his head between his knees, obviously trying hard not to vomit (again). Meanwhile, Chris was allowing Vin to try and massage feeling back into his knee. The tracker had popped it back into place with only a grunt from the gunslinger, but then it had immediately started to swell.

"I'm a fool," Chris muttered. "Allen nearly killed us all, and we walked right into it."

Vin just shook his head. "You couldn't have known he'd blow up a cliff on top of us. Half those outlaws didn't know either—they were as much pawns as…" He trailed off, frowning.

Chris snorted. 

Vin sighed and released Chris's knee. "Can't do much more. You need Nathan. I'll go see if I can find a splint for it."

"Where?" Ezra asked, looking over at Vin with bloodshot eyes. "All the trees have been destroyed."

"Then there's plenty of kindling," Vin replied, standing up. He rested a hand on Chris's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

After he left, Chris turned in his seat to stare morosely at the ruined structure, feelings of guilt and failure washing over him in waves. Josiah woozily made his way over to his side, dumping the shackled prisoner next to Ezra. 

"You couldn’t have foreseen this, Chris," the preacher said, settling down next to him on the rock. "The Goldmans can rebuild. The most important thing is that they, and we, are alive. Moreover, with our witness here…" He motioned to the outlaw, who refused to meet anyone’s eye. "We have the legal leverage we need to guarantee Mr. Allen will not only not get this land, but might even finally be forced to face the scales of justice for his crimes."

"Josiah's right," Ezra said, looking slightly perkier at the idea. "I didn't think of that before now, although, considering I am still seeing double, that's not entirely unexpected. Even better…" He raised his head to look Chris more squarely in the eye. "If we succeed in capturing Mr. Matthews, we have an even better chance."

Chris sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. "Not sure how we can do that without…" He trailed off at the sound of horses approaching. Buck and JD had enormous grins on their faces as they led the seven’s mounts behind them as well as an extra horse for the outlaw. 

"Lookee what we found just over the hill?" Buck said cheerfully. "They ran up against a fence and just sort of stopped. Came as soon as we whistled."

Chris stood up with Josiah's help, not hiding his amazement. "Damn. Alright then." He straightened. "Buck, take Vin when he gets back and see if you can track Matthews. If it is obvious he’s headed back to Allen, give up and come home." He looked at JD. "The prisoner's your responsibility—get him under lock and key as soon as we get back."

"And the rest of us?" Ezra asked.

"We go home, and let Nathan check us out." Chris's gaze narrowed. "Then we take down the bastard that did this, one way or another. Matthews was right about one thing." He looked at Ezra. "It's too late for the law. Allen comes anywhere near Four Corners, I don't care who his friends are. I'm going to kill him."  
__________________________

Hans Goldman sat quietly in the rocking chair across from Paul Reed, staring out the clinic door to where his wife stood leaning on the balcony. She was watching the street, hoping for some sign of the Seven. The boys were over at the Clarion with Billy Travis, being watched over by Mary—kind of her to help, but the father in him wished they were closer by.

He reflexively gripped the rifle in his hand, testing its grip, as if it might have changed in the last few minutes. The borrowed gun attached to his hip felt strangely heavy, and he wished he could take it off. 

Nathan was out talking to some of the townsfolks, looking for extra guns in case they needed it. After that explosion…. Well, they'd probably need it. Hans had no idea if he'd be successful. The town had come to rely on the Seven being there for them; without them, he didn't know if the town had it in it to fight. And he doubted they'd fight for the people who sent them to their deaths.

And it wasn't just the town that was hurting. He glanced at Paul, who was sleeping with his daughter snuggled up against his side, thinking of the conversation they'd had earlier. The man had already sounded defeated, the loss of his wife clearly devastating him. If the rest of the Seven were gone, Paul would probably run instead of stay. Hell, if the rest of the Seven were gone, Hans didn't know how much fight he had left in his own heart. 

He heard his wife sigh as she shifted to lean more heavily against the balcony's banister.

He knew she was watching the sun set while she scanned the people who entered into town from that direction, the warm glow lighting up her skin. Then she suddenly straightened, and he caught the flash of a smile. 

And, just as suddenly, the smile vanished. He knew that look—it was panic. 

"Hans!" she whispered urgently, beckoning him to come out. Donning a hat to hide his face, he joined her on the balcony, hunching slightly to appear infirm. 

"See that man?" she asked, pointing at a man dressed almost entirely in black, flanked by nine other men. "Does the man with him look familiar?" Now she indicated a rather burly man in a brown duster and red waistcoat. Hans peered in the deepening gloom. He had a moment’s pause as he thought the man in black was Chris Larabee—the build, coloring and clothes were almost the same as the gunslinger's--but quickly came to the same conclusion as his wife. Not only wasn't the stranger Chris, but the other man looked like one of the men that had delivered the eviction notice.

"That's it then," he agreed. "Go. See if you can locate Nathan, and then head over to the Clarion to be with the boys. Stay out of sight if you can—they never saw you, so shouldn't know what you look like, but I don't want to chance it." 

"And you?" she asked. 

"I'll be right here with the Reeds." 

She sighed tremulously, but nodded and went quickly to the stairs. Hans went back inside to his bags, and started pulling out the other weapons he had brought with him: two guns and a rifle. Paul looked puzzled, but accepted the six-shooter his new friend handed him. Hans then sidled back out to the balcony, keeping to the shadows, only to find his wife had returned and was watching the newcomers enter the saloon. She had a basket by her feet.

He frowned. "I thought I told you—"

"Mary was on the stairs, bringing us dinner." She nudged the basket with her foot. "She's gone to find Nathan. I also asked her to instruct the boys to stay at the Clarion and hide, just as Ezra made them promise to do." Her head lifted to look at him then, her expression proud despite her obvious fear. "I'm not going down without a fight, my husband, you know I'm not."

He studied her for a long moment, just taking in how beautiful she was, then kissed her on the cheek and handed her a rifle. She accepted it without question, her eyes glancing down to make sure it was loaded. The she returned her eyes to the saloon where the black-clad stranger was hitching up his horse.  
_____________________________

Matthews entered the saloon quietly, three men at his back. His other men he'd sent to check the other bars and the boarding house for the two families. Everyone else he had hired had either turned tail or were dead at the hands of that lawmen and his friends, or buried under that cliff. He smiled at the thought--the explosion had been spectacular, even by his high standards. Shame the man setting them off hadn’t realized just how powerful the blast would be. Oh well, Allen had more than enough money to buy more.

He looked around the fairly busy saloon, listening in interest at the worried murmurs around him. Everyone was talking about the explosion, and what it could mean. _Damn, I do good work._

He made his way to the bar and checked out the beautiful Mexican woman behind it. She had shoulder length brown hair and deep dark brown eyes that could captivate even a cold man such as himself. She was chatting amiably with some of the other customers, but he could sense the underlying tension in her voice. She was worried about something. He leaned against the bar and signaled for her attention.

Inez glanced over, and pursed her lips. She approached the newcomers warily, tilting her head as she asked what they would like.

"A bottle of your best whiskey, darling," Matthews ordered, "and four glasses. We're celebrating tonight." He smiled, but to his disappointment she didn't respond the flirtation. Still, she did as she was bid, putting four clean glasses on the bar and grabbing a bottle from below the bar.

"One more thing," the man said as she started to pour. "Have you a bartender here by the name of Ezra?" 

The whiskey sloshed a little, overflowing in one of the glasses, and she quickly put the bottle upright.

"Senor Standish?" she replied suspiciously. "Why do you wish to see him?"

"Oh," Matthews replied, "I just heard he may be a good man to contact about a business deal." He smiled at her again. "Is he here?"

Inez shook her head. "No. He's…not. He's, uh, he's in Eagle Bend at the moment. Excuse me," she said, moving away before he could ask her any more questions. 

Matthews frowned slightly, annoyed by her reticence. Grunting, he indicated to his men to find a table. They might be there a while. Then he himself wandered over to the poker table at the far end of the room, preparing to pump the men there for information about where to find the Reeds and the Goldmans.

He didn't see Inez hurriedly whisper to one of the serving wenches in the bar, or see the girl leave to find Nathan.  
_____________________________

The sun was well below the horizon by the time four peacekeepers and their prisoner made it back to town, almost closing in on midnight. Hampered by their various injuries, they'd been forced to keep the horses at a slow walk and all but one of them was completely exhausted. 

The joys of youth–JD still sat straight in his saddle, his bowler hat straight on his head. 

On the clinic's balcony still, Beatta stood up from her seat, recognizing them in the bright moonlight. Hans joined her when she called, placing an arm around her waist. 

"Thank God," he whispered, hugging her.

Chris looked up at the clinic, and nodded at the couple watching him, backlit by the golden glow of the room behind them, but continued on to the livery below. Ezra and Josiah peeled off with him, while JD continued on with the prisoner to the jail.

"I sorely need a bath," Ezra said, practically falling off his horse as soon as they were inside. A yawning Tiny took Chaucer, and Ezra could have hugged him for the kindness. 

"You need to see Nathan," Chris replied as he slid rather ungainly off his big black. He winced and stumbled slightly. Josiah watched them, looking rather forlorn at the idea of getting off Quincy.

"He has a full house up there," Ezra groused. "Not to mention the two of you to see to. What if I go take a bath and, if I promise to go straight to my room, you can send our gracious healer up there to find me?"

Chris sighed. "I honestly don't know why you need a bath. You already dunked your head in that stream and changed. Compared to Josiah and me, you're already pretty darned clean."

"That's because your definition of 'clean' and my definition of 'clean,' Mr. Larabee, are about as disparate as our sartorial sensibilities."

Chris sighed. "Well, we know your tongue isn't broken, even if the rest of you might be."

Ezra snorted, but, truth be told, he really was in incredible pain. He wasn't broken—at least, not that he knew of--but badly battered was a definite. He found himself leaning heavily on one of the columns inside the livery, and knew, if he closed his eyes, he'd be unconscious in moments. 

"I understand your desire, son, but I'm thinking you'd drown in a bath," Josiah offered, still resolutely sitting on Quincy as Tiny took Chris's horse away from him. "I know I would."

Ezra sighed, feeling his energy level begin to crash now that he was off Chaucer's back. Josiah wasn't wrong.

"Perhaps I should just go to my room after all," he said, blinking owlishly. 

"Perhaps you should," Chris agreed, smirking slightly. "I'll send Nathan after you as soon as we find him."

"I'll await his appearance with great zeal."

Chris huffed a laugh and looked up at Josiah. "Need a hand?"

The preacher shook his head, and, with an enormous sigh, somehow managed to slide off of Quincy's back without ending up on the floor. He grinned, obviously taking his still standing state as a win. Ezra couldn’t help but chuckle.

"God help us if we have to go back out there tonight," the gambler intoned. Chris said nothing to that, clearly not disagreeing. 

As if to mock their agony, JD came bouncing into the livery, all pent up energy and bright grin. 

"Hey fellas!"

"You find Nathan?" Chris asked.

"Was I supposed to be finding Nathan?"

"Go find Nathan," Josiah said, sitting down on a hay bale and resting his back against the wall. "I'll wait for him here."

"Who is watching the prisoner?" Chris asked.

JD looked behind him at the open door, then back at Chris. "Um…" He smiled weakly. "I thought I could be more help to you boys."

Chris sighed. "Go find Nathan. I doubt he's upstairs, because he'd likely be here by now. He's probably doing a perimeter patrol around the town. I'll go check on the prisoner."

"He's locked up tight."

Chris just nodded. "I'm sure he is but I'm going to check anyway. If everything seems quiet, you can tell Nathan I'll be at the saloon with Ezra drowning this day away."

Ezra grinned. "Man after my own heart," he said. 

Meanwhile, slumped over on the hay bale, Josiah started to snore.  
_____________________________________

Ezra gave Chris a farewell nod, and then bee-lined his way to the saloon. It shone in the cool night air, gold and inviting, and he often wondered if the Pearly Gates wouldn't look a little like a warm, lively saloon after a long day out on the trail. Assuming he got to even see the Pearly Gates, of course.

Taking a deep breath, he did what he could to brush some of the remaining dust on his jacket and trousers before entering the saloon. He’d lost his hat in the landslide, but, when they’d stopped to water the horses on the way home, he’d managed to slip away for some solitude in order to get most of the offending dirt out of his hair, face and clothes. Changing out of his ripped jacket and shirt with the extras in his saddlebag was the most important step, as he hadn't felt quite human until he'd done that. He was also grateful the others hadn't seen how black and red his body was—though Chris's body couldn't look much better. 

Chris Larabee be damned—the man had no idea how liberating a bath and a change of clothes could be. While only a thin layer of dust remained as outward evidence of the terrible incident, he still wanted all of it gone. Frankly, he wanted to simply forget the whole day had even happened.

As he stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the batwing doors of his haven, though, a dizzy spell assaulted his balance—promising that, even though he may look alright, he clearly wasn't. He stopped and braced himself against the railing, breathing through the spins and waiting for the world to settle. It did fairly quickly, and, though his head was throbbing and his body was aching, he was damned if he would let anyone inside see even the slightest evidence of injury. 

_Appearances are everything, darling._ Show someone you're in pain, and they'll take advantage of you. His mother had taught him that from a very young age. And while he'd slowly but surely given up trying to hide when he was hurt from Nathan and the others, the rest of the town still had to be kept at arm's length. 

Shaking his head clear, he pushed through the batwings into the saloon, noting curiously that it seemed a little more subdued than normal, and plastered on his brightest smile.

Abrupt silence greeted his arrival, and he smiled even more brightly at the patrons. They were all staring at him like he was a ghost, which Ezra easily ignored as he called out to his favorite resident of Four Corners:

"Inez, my love, I need a drink!"

"Ezra!" she gasped, eyes wide. His next words died on his lips as she uncharacteristically ran out from behind the bar to get to him, grabbing him a in a fierce hug. "Thank god," she whispered in his ear. 

Only through sheer force of will did Ezra manage not to scream in pain, pouring all his agony into a grin clamped so tight it could probably stop a bullet. 

"My dear," he uttered through gritted teeth, eyes watering slightly, "please let go."

As if suddenly realizing what she was doing, Inez instantly released him and he staggered a little with the head rush. Still smiling though, he straightened and forced a laugh when she took his arm to steady him. She leaned in again then, as if to kiss him on the cheek, and whispered: 

"There's a man here looking for you. For the record, you were in Eagle Bend today." She did kiss him then and backed up.

"Nice to see you too, my dear," he laughed at her, and she blushed as he grabbed her hand and kissed it. At the same time, the crowd in the saloon fell back into normal chatter, the sound definitely more relaxed than before the gambler's arrival. Laughter could be heard from several places, and Ezra realized that the subdued feeling had vanished. Had the people here been worried?

A little overcome by that idea, Ezra followed Inez back to the bar and took a long pull on the whiskey bottle she handed him. He looked around then, to see who it was she was trying to warn him against, when the answer made itself known.

"Ezra Standish?" 

Ezra's breath caught for a second, recognizing the voice even though he hadn't seen the face clearly back at the ranch. He followed Inez with his eyes as she backed away from the bar, looking unhappily at Deacon Matthews. Nevertheless, when Ezra turned to face the man, it was with an air of calm indifference.

"Yes? May I help you?"

Deacon Matthews was clearly not unaware of the effect Ezra had had on the people in the saloon either, as he kept his stance friendly.

"My name is Deacon Matthews. I am sorry to break you away from your woman…" Matthews sent a look at Inez, who frowned at him even more. "But I have a business proposition for you, one that I know will be very lucrative for us both. If you would please join me and my friends over there?" The outlaw indicated a table where three other men lounged, all staring at him with bored expressions. 

"Of course," Ezra replied easily, quickly judging the men's armaments and finding them terrifyingly well stocked. "I'd be happy to. Just let me just kiss the woman I love, and I will be right over. It has been a long day, and I am in need of a kind touch." 

Matthews chuckled and stepped away with a sly smile. Watching the man out of the corner of his eye, Ezra stepped around the bar and took Inez in his arms. She obviously considered protesting, but stopped when his arms tightened hard enough to indicate that this wasn't a pass. Several patrons whistled as Ezra kissed her tenderly on the lips, then leaned in to nuzzle her ear with his mouth, feeling her tremble slightly at his touch.

"As soon as I sit down," he whispered, "send someone to the jail—tell Chris that Matthews is here."

Her breath ticked his ear. "Can't you—?"

"No. I’m not well enough to take on four armed men by myself." 

Inez tensed in his arms, but nodded in understanding. 

"How long can you stall?" she asked then, her hands sliding down to his hips. He breathed shakily, and not entirely from pain.

"Not long." He smiled. "Hence the urgency of my request," he added, kissing her on the cheek. As he let her go, she spontaneously kissed him on the lips again.

"Be careful," she whispered, "and try to keep the damage to a minimum." Ezra raised an eyebrow and she winked. Then she laughed as if he'd said something hilarious and slipped out of his arms.

"Don't take too long," she said, sashaying away to the far end of the bar. "I missed you."

Ezra smiled and shook his head, before turning and heading towards Matthews. In the mirror, he spotted Inez speaking quietly to a couple of the townsfolk at the end of the bar. They both nodded and went out the back of the saloon. She then returned and started to pour a pitcher of beer. Clever woman—Ezra knew she'd move around the saloon with it and warn the others to be ready for a fight.

Ezra slid into the seat facing Matthews, but couldn’t hide the agony as a sudden spasm wracked his body at the motion. His face contorted and he exhaled sharply. _Hell, so much for feigned indifference._ Matthews narrowed his gaze and dropped his hands to his lap. He was obviously no fool.

"Are you hurt, Mr. Standish?"

"It's nothing," Ezra wheezed, and swallowed to get his voice back. "I was in a slight altercation with some poor poker players in Eagle Bend, just east of here. They didn’t take to kindly to my wiping them out and took it out on my kidneys." He offered a sheepish smile, and relaxed as Matthews brought his hands back up to the table. In return, he leaned forward and placed his own elbows on the table, steepling his fingers together in a posture of pure ease. He just wished his head didn’t hurt so much--Matthew’s face was swimming in his vision.

"Well, I may have something that might cheer you up," Matthews replied, dropping a hand once more to his lap, although this time he was clearly looking for something. Ezra glanced at the other three, noticing that none had their hands in view. Their unyielding stares this caused Ezra to release his fingers, realizing that they were likely all holding guns on him at this moment. Smiling at them, he quickly put together the odds of his getting out of this alive. 

They seemed rather slim.

His left arm dropped to rest lightly on the tabletop, and his right hand tensed into a fist. It took a lot of effort not to flex his right wrist and release the derringer, but the Seven needed Matthews alive. He also rather liked living himself.

When Matthews’ hand returned to the table, it was holding a rolled up wad of bills—a very fat, very expensive looking wad of bills. 

Ezra couldn't keep the surprise from his face, and his calculating mind immediately started estimating just how much money sat in front of him. It was easily enough to buy this saloon. Hell, he could buy Digger Dan's with it at the same time. Maybe even the hotel. Hell, he could own every bar in this town.

That was not what he had expected.

Matthews leaned forward, pushing the bills towards the gambler, his knowing smile showing he clearly saw the effect the money had had on Ezra. 

"We know that you have been working on trying to save the Goldman property through legal means, Standish. This here is $3000. All we ask in return is that you lose the paperwork and tell the Goldmans that they have no chance of saving their property. No strings attached."

Ezra’s right hand strayed to touch the money on the table, his slightly discombobulated brain suddenly wondering if this were all really a dream. Everything he’d ever desired was looking him in the face, and he had to blink to remember where he was. He heard his mother’s voice telling him to grab the money and run, to leave this backwater town and reclaim his birthright as a Southern gentleman and nobleman. For a moment, the pain in his back and the dizziness in his head disappeared, and he could see his future before him, bright and sunny. 

Then he looked up at the man in front of him.

Blond hair and blue eyes stared back, the black clad outlaw almost the twin of the man who was only a few yards away on the other side of the street. Unwittingly, Ezra imagined it was Larabee sitting before him, the first man Ezra had ever respected, the man whose trust Ezra had finally, after all these months, genuinely earned. And for some unfathomable reason, at this singular instant in time, he knew that he would rather burn this money than betray that trust—it was worth more to him than anything he could possibly buy. It was worth more than his dream. 

Good god, his mother was going to _kill_ him. Or, at least, institutionalize him. 

He laughed at the idea, and at himself. He put the money down, though his fingers still petted it as if it were a cat, and wondered if he actually had gone insane.

"Ahem. You still there, Standish?"

Ezra blinked, and the room came back into focus, loud and bright. Across from him, Matthews raised his eyebrows expectantly as Ezra cleared his throat.

"Well, sir, I must say that this is an extremely tempting offer," Ezra drawled, his hand still hovering over the wad of bills. "However, I am…" He swallowed, his eyes seemed unable to look away from the thin papers. "I am afraid I cannot give you an answer until I have pondered on this sufficiently. You see, there are some men in this town who, uh, might not take kindly to my taking you up on this offer."

"Seven men?" Matthews asked.

Ezra looked up. Matthews' smile became grotesque as he leaned forward.

"Trust me, Ezra, they're not going to mind. They're not going to mind anything ever again—I saw to that myself earlier today. So what do you say?" 

Ezra grimaced at the ugliness in Matthew's eyes at those words, taking in the yellowness of his teeth and the purplish sunburn scars on his nose. As if descending into a nightmare, the flaws and disfigurements on the man's face seemed to grow and swell, seeming to erase any semblance of humanity. How had he ever thought this man could be a twin for Larabee? This man was hideous.

Matthews frowned at his lack of answer. "I need that answer now, Standish. Yes or no?" 

Ezra looked once more at the money on the table. When he looked up again, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Nathan standing a few feet behind Matthews, leaning on a pillar. 

"Um…" Ezra said to Matthews, glancing back at him then at Nathan again. "Well, you see, it's not entirely as easy as all that." As he spoke, he saw the healer smile slightly and gesture with his eyes for Ezra to look behind him. "Stopping what I've started here is difficult," Ezra stammered, "and I'm not certain—"

"Yes or no?" Matthews said again, slamming his hand on the table and bouncing the money closer to Ezra. Ezra flinched, using it as cover to check the mirror just above Matthew's head. He nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of Vin and Buck at the far end of the bar, watching him in the same mirror. They must have discovered Matthews had headed this way after leaving the Goldman ranch, and arrived at the saloon just in time. Vin caught his look, and nodded. The two lawmen moved towards Ezra’s table. 

"Well, if you insist on having an answer now, then…" Ezra shrugged and smiled broadly, exposing his gold tooth and resting his hands on the edge of the table on either side of the cash. "As tempting as your offer is, quite frankly, I just couldn't work for someone who smells like a dead armadillo and has less class than sideshow buffoon. And if I were you?" He leaned forward, gripping the table's edge. "I would have done my homework a little more carefully, because the seven men that guard this town have been known to rise from the _dead_." 

With almost unreal speed, he threw himself backwards and flipped the table upwards at the same time. His chair legs caught on the rough wood, crashing him hard on his back as gunshots fired over his head, one of them slicing a gash through his hip. Gasping at the lack of air from hitting the ground so hard, he flicked his right wrist to reveal the derringer and rolled out of the ruined chair, a new kind of pain cutting into his side as he moved. Tumbling back to his feet, he threw himself bodily at the closest outlaw, sending them both sprawling. All too easily, the man threw him off and Ezra cried out as he was slammed into a different set of tables and chairs, his insides feeling like they were shattering at the impact. The last thing he saw before blacking out was a pair of filthy black-clad legs moving to stand in front of him.  
____________________________________________ 

Matthews scrambled backwards as the gambler threw up the table, barely missing being trapped, and whipped out his twin colts with a speed to rival Chris. He was on his feet and pointing them at Buck before the other man had his gun all the way up. Buck’s eyes widened as Matthews merely smiled wickedly and pulled back the hammers.

"Bam!" JD's voice yelled, slamming a chair down on Matthews' head. The colts fell to the floor unfired, along with Matthews' unconscious body.

Vin, meanwhile, had shot the gun out of one of the outlaw's hands, and the man was now sitting down in his chair gripping a bleeding arm, eyes wide with shock. A third was slumped over in his chair, one of Nathan's knives squarely in his back—he hadn’t even have the chance to fire.

The last outlaw, whom Ezra had tackled, was also dead. Shot by Chris as soon as Ezra was thrown off. Larabee stood directly in front of Ezra's unconscious body now, like a shield. 

"Whoo-whee!" JD crowed, dropping the rest of the chair and wiping his hands together with pride. He looked over at a grinning Buck.

"Bam?" Buck repeated curiously.

"Dunno." The kid shrugged, smiling broadly. "Just came out."

Buck laughed. "Thanks, kid," he said genuinely. 

Nathan skidded over to Ezra's side, getting down on his knees so he could check on the gambler. With Ezra being taken care of, Chris limped around the table to join Vin and Buck in inspecting Matthews. Vin looked up from where he was feeling the man’s pulse, and nodded. 

"The bastard’s alive," he said. "If we can get him to turn…"

"We'll have Allen," Chris finished with a growl. "Good." 

"Chris," Nathan called urgently, sitting back on his haunches next to Ezra, his hands covered in blood. He looked up at the gunslinger, eyes bright with worry. "I need to get him to the clinic. _Now_."


	6. Unexpected Actions

Ezra was overly warm, but it was a nice warmth, although the mattress was lumpy. Considering how much he paid that boy to air out the mattress and beat out the lumps every other week, it was rather disappointing. He'd have to have a stern talk with….

_Wait._

This wasn't his mattress. The featherbed was missing.

That meant he was waking up somewhere other than his room, but he had no recollection of where that could be. As he tried to figure it out, his senses began to catalog other sensations: the pleasant red glow of direct sunlight filtering through his eyelids from an open door, the sound of people whispering quietly around him, the creak of a rocking chair near his bed. Then the less pleasant sensations made themselves known, far worse than the mattress: his legs ached with stiffness, his head throbbed with an increasing and unrelenting drumbeat, his skin felt dry and stretched, and tiny pinpricks of pain, as if someone were piercing him with hundreds of tiny needles, cascaded up and down his body in waves. The worst part, however, was his back. It burned with a singular ache, and he was unable to stretch in order to fix it. 

He groaned, desperately needing relief.

The rocking chair stopped rocking. From somewhere beyond it, he was aware of voices calling his name.

"Ezra? Ez, can you hear me?" 

It was Nathan. Why were they all so hell bent on shortening the name Ezra? It’s a perfectly good name, and didn’t deserve to be chopped up. After all, no one called Josiah "Joe." 

"Mr. Standish?" A young girl’s voice, very close. "Mr. Standish, please open your eyes. Everyone is very worried." So matter-of-fact, it had to be Martha Reed.

"Can you pull those off him?" Nathan asked, obviously not to Ezra.

He felt someone place a cool hand to his forehead, while someone else lifted away the warm quilts around his torso. He frowned. He’d liked those quilts, and the cold air now assaulting his skin was not welcome. He felt himself being lifted up a little off his right side by the same cold hands, which provided a little relief to his back. His head rocked sideways against the pillow.

"His fever’s all but gone, thank god," Nathan was saying to someone, "and it looks like the bruising has gone down some around his abdomen and back. The cuts are healing too." Nathan leaned in again. "Ezra, come on. Wake up. Open your eyes. We’re all here waiting for you."

He tried, he really did, and not just for them. He wanted to look up at Nathan and tell him about his back, and then tell him to go away and let him sleep some more, but the lashes were stuck together. 

He was also still so very tired, and sleep beckoned him to just give in and go back under her spell. Maybe it'd be easier.

"Damn it, stubborn cuss," Nathan muttered with clear frustration. "You need water, you idiot. Wake up."

"Maybe this will help," Martha said. "It helped papa." 

A moment later a cold compress was placed on his face and washed down his features, including brushing lightly over his eyes, before being taken away. Yes, alright, that was actually nice. He wanted them to run it down his back, to cool it off.

"Ezra, come on. Open your eyes."

Though part of him hated responding to an order, he managed it this time, and the room came into focus. He opened his mouth to ask about the compress, but only a sort of hoarse cough came out.

Nathan smiled, exhausted, bloodshot eyes shining. "Hey, there you are. Welcome back. Feel like drinking some water?" 

Before he could answer, someone on his other side reached arms around him in order to prop him up. Ezra moved his head to see who it was, and smiled at an unusually serious looking Buck. Buck caught the smile and flashed his own as Nathan packed pillows behind Ezra's back. Soon the gambler was all but sitting up, with a better view of his surroundings. His back felt much better in the new position, and he sighed before coughing again. 

Martha held a small tin cup to Nathan, smiling brightly at Ezra the whole time, and the healer placed it to his lips. "Just water, Ez. For now. I need you to drink this, okay?" 

Ezra simply nodded. As he drank, he got a look around, surprised by how full Nathan's tiny clinic was. Paul Reed still lay on a makeshift cot to his right, and the man nodded at him as Martha went to sit with him. Dark circles ringed the poor man’s eyes beneath his bandage, and he soon dropped his gaze. 

At the end of Ezra’s bed sat Chris, one leg propped up on another chair with a splint on it. The man in black waved uncharacteristically as Ezra’s gaze fell on him, a crooked smile on the man’s usually passive face. He held cards in his hand.

Lastly, sitting in the rocking chair by the window was Josiah, a bandage wrapped cockily around his head, held in place by one of the preacher's colorful headbands. He too had cards fanned in one large hand. 

"Good to see you awake again, Brother," the preacher intoned.

Ezra breathed in deeply, and blinked a few times more to get rid of the last of the cobwebs. They were playing cards without him? How rude.

"What happened?" he croaked as Nathan gave him the cup to hold. 

"Those bastards managed to nick you a couple of times when they started firing," Buck answered jovially. "Luckily, they were just grazes--your clever clumsiness saved your life--but the cut on your hip bled a lot. Had Nathan all a dither. Plus, all the rock dancing you did caused a little more damage than you let on. You shoulda seen the state of your back, hoss. Whoo whee! You have more color on your back than a whole field full of peacocks."

Ezra frowned, assuming the events that were just described would make sense to him eventually. The last thing he remembered was….Damn, what was the last thing he remembered? Being at the Goldmans…Vin waving and shouting….the exploding cliff face….Ezra groaned again as the memories flooded back. Matthews in the bar…Wait, did he kiss Inez? Aw hell. Ezra looked guiltily at Buck, earning him a frown. 

"What?" Buck asked, suspicious.

"Is everyone else alright?" he covered.

Buck smiled again. "Yeah. The Goldmans are good, and Vin and JD are fine. They're at the jail, watching over all our prizes."

"Prizes?" Ezra repeated, coughing slightly over the word. "Plural?" 

"Along with Matthews, we got nearly half a dozen of Allen's henchman, all neatly packed up, thanks to Nate. Man's the big hero of the hour! While we were slowly coming home after nearly being flattened, he single-handedly took down most of Matthews men that had scattered themselves around town. Apparently, Matthews had split 'em up to look for you—by the way, they think you're some kind of lawyer bartender, which is pretty darned amusing—and for the Reeds and the Goldmans. Nathan grabbed 'em one at a time as they went to the privy or to find their missing friends, and had the Miller boys lock 'em up in the ice-house behind the hotel. We owe the Millers five dollars, by the way. I said you'd pay it."

Ezra grimaced at that, but didn't say anything. He was looking at Nathan where the healer was busily crushing some herbs in a pestle, pretending not to be listening. The man's cheeks were flaming, but he was also obviously trying to repress a smug smile. Damn, he was going to be insufferable after this. 

"You couldn't have grabbed Matthews while you were at it?" Ezra asked hoarsely. Nathan shrugged.

"I can't do everything," he replied cheekily. "I figured I had to leave you boys some of the fun." He smiled at Ezra, but then it faded, as if looking at the gambler hurt somehow. 

Ezra frowned, not understanding why until Nathan grabbed the water to bring to him again, all conceit gone from the man's face. 

"I'm sorry, Ez. I kept hoping those men with Matthews would leave the saloon, but not one of them did, and I was afraid to take them on alone. So I focused on the others in town. I should have tried harder—if I had, maybe you wouldn't have nearly…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

As he poured the water into the empty cup in Ezra's hand, Ezra nudged him. "You're an idiot." 

Nathan glanced up at him. "What?"

"You saved countless lives, and you're apologizing? You're an idiot. Go back to being self-righteous, it suits you better." 

Nathan's face flushed with annoyance. "I'm not—"

"Oh, speaking of idiots," Buck broke in, with the obvious intent to stop the upcoming argument, "Inez has been by to see you a couple of times, Ez, threatening to beat you up next time you hurt her saloon again." He smiled. "But I don’t think she means it. Besides, it's almost already back to normal. Some of the locals helps to rebuild the furniture you smashed yesterday, and it looks pretty good."

Yesterday? Hang on… "How long have I…?" he asked, his voice gaining strength as panic set in. 

"Yeah," Buck said, his smile disappearing and he looked up at Nathan, who backed away to put the pitcher down. "A while. It's Tuesday night—you slept for almost two days." Nathan banged the pitcher down with a little too much force at those words—yeah, he'd been worried.

But Ezra's worry was about something else entirely. He looked over at Chris. "Any word from Santa Fe? There should have been a telegram by now, or a letter…"

It was Chris’s turn to frown. "No. Haven’t heard from the Judge or from the county seat. You sure your friend is trustworthy?"

Ezra nodded. She'd better be, considering how much she owed him. "It has to be Allen. He's blocking it somehow."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "We were thinking the same. And it brought up another problem."

"If Allen's reach is that deep in Santa Fe," Buck said, "it made us think the territorial Marshals might've been corrupted too, the ones we need to come get Matthews and the others. So Mary wrote to a friend of hers in Saint Louis who runs the service there. We got word this morning that they're sending some men to deal with Matthews…and maybe Allen." 

"How?"

"Chris and Josiah…" Buck smiled wickedly. "Let's just say they _convinced_ Matthews and the others to turn on Allen. Turned out not to be that hard. Did you know you winged him at the ranch? Well, that injury turned out to be more severe than he thought and the man's a bit of a wuss." He shrugged again.

Ezra smiled dryly. "I guess that’s something." He made a move to sit up further. "But it doesn't get those homes back. I need to—" He gasped as his back spasmed; like an explosion, all his injuries seemed to scream, blacking out his vision. He must have cried out as well, because the next thing he knew he was being resettled into the bed and Martha was crying.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Buck said, holding him down as a wild-eyed Nathan drew the covers up. "Where do you think you’re going?"

He gasped, trying to remember what he'd been doing. "I have to…to write to my contacts. We should’ve heard…." Ezra grunted, pinching his eyes shut against the lacerating pain that suddenly rolled up and down his body. "Oh god…"

"In the morning," Nathan informed him firmly. "Right now, you’re not leaving this bed."

Ezra slumped back into the pillows, his eyes still shut. "But, I need…" he whispered, weakly, unable to fight the blackness creeping over him. "Just…I need to…." But he couldn't remember what he needed anymore, and he slept.  
____________________________________

Swearing loudly and passionately, Marcus Allen was throwing as many objects as he could lift around his office. He had been so happy a few days ago after seeing Orrin off and getting the man’s promise again that he wouldn’t interfere with his work. Now it was all gone to hell.

Jace, the foreman, was standing near the door, the bearer of the message that Federal Marshals were being sent from Saint Louis to transport Matthews out of the territory. Matthews getting caught by those seven men in Four Corners was one thing; he could have handled that with some more greased palms, but he didn't control anyone in Missouri. And, per Jace, Matthews was apparently telling everyone that Allen had paid him to attack those families.

This, combined with the information that somehow, despite all the money he'd poured into the state's coffers, both the Goldman and the Reed had filed petitions this morning to get their homes back, was the last straw. Travis would not be able to ignore actual documents. How the hell did this happen? 

His only hope now was to make sure that no one was left to back those documents up. And no one was left to testify to what he did at the Reed and Goldman homesteads.

Marcus swung around to face Jace. "I want Matthews and those two other filthy turncoats dead, you understand? Blow up that damn town if you have to, to make it happen. And those families. I want them wiped off the face off this earth. Now! Tonight! And their lawyer. That damn bartender, whatever the hell he is, with all his damn ‘contacts.’ I want him gone as well. Do you understand?"

Jace blinked back at his boss. "No, sir, I’m, uh, not sure I, um…." 

As Jace spoke, Allen reached into his desk, his patience at an end. "Well then find me someone who can, or you’re out of here. You understand?" Dark eyes stared daggers at the other man, but the warning in them was ignored. "Move!"

Jace just shook his head, his own eyes on the rug at his feet. "I’m sorry sir, but, no. I won’t. I mean, removing trespassers is one thing, but no one said anything about killing families or blowing up towns. That's--" 

The gunshot echoed around the room, the bullet hitting Jace firmly in the chest. The large man gasped, looking down at the red stain forming across his rough-hewn shirt, then up at Allen. The rancher glared at him as he lowered the smoking gun in his hand.

"Fine," Marcus said, as Jace collapsed to the ground. "Then I will do it myself."  
_____________________________

Nathan looked up, smiling to hear Martha Reed laughing for the first time since she'd ridden into town. Ezra was awake again, sitting up on the cot and telling her about the gambling barges on the Mississippi, with their beautiful clientele, and their not so beautiful clientele. His hands were moving, a sure sign that his back was finally improving, and as he told her some tall tale about a man named Bret Maverick, she was actually laughing. 

Even Paul Reed, who was still unable to accept the fact that his wife was dead, couldn’t help but listen to the gambler’s stories with a smile on his face. 

"Ezra!" JD’s voice carried from somewhere down below, the sound of someone charging up the steps clear. "Ezra!"

"Come in!" Martha yelled back, laughing even more brightly. The door practically flew back off its hinges as JD bounded into the room, waving a yellow piece of paper in his hand.

"This just came in. You gotta read it! You did it, Ez! The stuff you sent to county seat, it got filed! The Judge is coming!"

"What?" Ezra said, ripping the parchment from JD’s fingers. He grinned and, for the other's benefit, read it out loud.

"ES – Got your message. Had to fight the whole way. Injunctions filed and approved this morning. Travis on his way. Should be there tomorrow for hearing. We’re even now. Good luck – MMB"

Ezra’s face broke into an enormous grin, his gold tooth glittering. A panting Hans Goldman appeared at the door with Manfred and Charlie. One was on his back and the other was under his arm. 

"Did something happen?" the German asked over Manfred’s loud demands to be put down. Hans dropped him, and Manfred ran over to jump onto the bed with Ezra. Luckily Martha stopped him before he made it. 

"Careful with him, Manny. He’s not finished healing yet." Then she whipped around and grabbed the telegram from Ezra’s hand and waved it in front of Hans as he walked up to the bed. "This says that we got the inj…inj…" She looked back down at the paper, and back up again, "injunction!" Hans took it from her hands, reading it through himself. 

"Does that mean it's over? Can these folks go home?" JD asked breathlessly. 

Ezra nodded. "As soon as the Judge comes and makes it official, yes." As Ezra said this, Chris and Vin appeared at the door, Chris hanging a little on Vin's arm. They obviously hadn’t missed JD’s mad dash across to the clinic with the news. Hans handed the telegram to Chris, who limped into the room to take it.

"About time," Chris muttered. He looked up. "But this doesn't end it. You may still be in danger."

"We can’t hide here forever," Hans said belligerently.

"And we need to find out what we can salvage." Paul spoke up for the first time. "Only way we can move on." His voice sounded tired. "Find a new place to go."

"What?" Martha cried out, crossing to her father's side. "What do you mean, 'new'?"

"You don't need a new place," JD said. "Ezra's gonna get your home back. Don't you want--?"

"There is nothing left for me here," Paul said. "And I can't afford to rebuild it. But maybe we can sell the land if we get it back."

Martha's eyes filled with tears. "But, papa--"

"Well, I'm not leaving," Hans stated firmly, looking at Paul. "We will rebuild our home, one way or another. And I think you should stay as well, Paul. We can help each other. You can stay with us until you're back on your feet, and then we'll help you rebuild your ranch." 

"I'm sorry, Hans, but no."

"I don't want to leave Four Corners, Papa," Martha said then. "Please. Momma loved it here. I want to be near her."

"Damn it, Martha, we don't have a _choice_ ," Paul snapped. "Even if I wanted to, we don't have the money. We can go back east, stay with your grandparents in Kansas for a while. Maybe someday we can return, but I can't promise anything. Besides…" He looked at Ezra. "I'm not staying if it's still dangerous." He looked then at Chris. "Will it be?" he asked.

"It's always dangerous out here," Chris replied plainly.

"Then I'm not risking the only thing I have left in this world," Paul said, taking Martha's hand. 

"Paul, wait," Hans argued, "let's not be hasty. I'm sure these men will tell you that there is danger everywhere—even back east--but here we can protect each other. And so will these men, risking their lives as they've done for us." He looked at Ezra, Vin and then Chris, who gave a single nod in return. Hans rounded on Paul. "Truth is, I know we could use your and Martha's help to rebuild, and we'll do the same for you. Together. And I'm sure we can recover some of your livestock—we can guess where much of it has gone—and—"

"Manfred, could you get me my coat?" Nathan heard Ezra whisper to the little boy as Hans and Paul continued to argue. Manfred had been standing at the head of Ezra’s bed, looking with his fingers through Ezra’s thick hair for…something. Ezra had been pretending not to notice the young man’s strange curiosity. At the sudden mention of his name, though, Manfred came back to himself. Smiling broadly, he ran around the bed to get Ezra’s green jacket that Nathan had hung over the back of the rocking chair. He returned, handed him the coat, and went immediately back to his scrutiny of Ezra’s hair. 

As soon as Ezra had the coat in his hands, he pulled out a wad of bills from an inside pocket. "Reed," he called, and tossed the money at Paul, cutting him off mid-argument. "That is $3000. It belonged to Marcus Allen when he tried to bribe me to stop helping you. Now it belongs to you and Hans. You can use it to rebuild your homes." 

No one spoke for a couple of minutes, too surprised at Ezra to say anything. Then Martha turned around and gave Ezra a kiss on the forehead. 

"Thank you," she said. She looked at her father, who was staring at the money blankly. "Papa," she state with finality, putting her hand on her hip, "we're staying."

"Um…" Paul blinked, and a tear ran down one cheek.

"You're staying," Hans agreed with her. 

"We want you to stay," JD added. "The whole town."

"And we'll have your backs," Vin added.

Paul just stared at them, then at the money in his hands. 

"It's your choice," Chris said softly, a heavy weight to his voice, "and I know the idea of staying seems impossible without her, but running won't bring you peace. Believe me, I know." He drew in a deep breath. "Fact is, it takes a home to do that, and seems to me you have one here."

Nathan couldn't resist a small smile at that, and knew Vin and Ezra felt it too.

Paul studied Chris for a while, clearly struggling. Finally, he looked at Martha and gave a tentative smile. 

"Well, I appear to have been outvoted," he told her. She cried out with joy and hugged him. Looking over her shoulder, Paul mouthed a 'thank you' to Ezra. 

Ezra just nodded, as if handing out huge wads of cash was something he did every day. 

"Damn, Ez," Vin said, kicking the bedpost, "you're just full of surprises these days."

"It's a gift," Ezra replied, smiling brightly. In the background, Hans had settled himself on the end of Paul's bed, engaging both him and Martha in a serious conversation about what to do next. Seeing they were not longer needed, Chris, Vin and JD moved to leave, but stopped when they heard Ezra ask Nathan when he could get out of the clinic. 

Nathan laughed. "When the judge arrives tomorrow, maybe, if you’re good."

"How about today?" Ezra asked, "I fear the saloon must be getting very dreary in my absence…"

"No. No way. And you know what I’ll do if you try to get back there. I have the ropes ready to attach your leg to this bedpost." He slapped the wooden post for emphasis.

"Mr. Jackson, I assure you that I am feeling—"

"Bull crap."

Ezra frowned. "Mr. Jackson, might I remind you that there are children present. Such language is—"

"Bull CRAP!" Manfred yelled from where he was standing over Ezra again. He pointed excitedly at Ezra’s head, causing the others in the room to roar with laughter, even Paul Reed.  
______________________________

Later that evening, Judge Travis rolled into Four Corners. Mary greeted him at the stage with a hug, but her face fell when she saw the dour expression on Orrin’s face. 

"What’s the matter?" She asked, suddenly worried. Travis just shook his head. How could he tell her that he’d just spent three days at the home of one of his oldest friends, promising not to do the very thing he was about to? How the hell had this happened?

His only hope was, as it was Standish who had filed the papers, that the gambler’s actions were part of some sort of twisted con. As for the news about some cutthroat outlaw saying he worked for Marcus, he felt certain that the man must be lying. There was no way Marcus could be involved with such a low life. Undoubtedly, this Deacon Matthews was simply trying to gain immunity by making up lies about an innocent man with a lot of money.

With heavy steps, Travis shook off Mary’s concerned arm and walked to the jail where Chris sat in the door, watching the Judge approach, his still sore leg propped up on an empty beer barrel.  
_______________________________

Marcus Allen, flanked by several men he'd hired in Purgatory, arrived in Four Corners sometime after midnight. They checked into the hotel, and went upstairs to plan the next day’s events.


	7. A Questionable History

"Sshhhh!" Vin warned Ezra as the tracker and Buck helped their friend down the clinic stairs. Ezra had mis-stepped, causing a loud creak from an angry floorboard. "If Nathan catches us doin’ this, he’ll have our hides." 

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, replacing the gray twilight with a rosy air, and Nathan was fast asleep in his little room off to the side. Paul and Martha had waved Ezra farewell with a smile. 

Quickly, the three men descended the last few steps to the ground, and then half-carried the still hurting gambler over to the saloon. As they reached the doors, Inez opened them up and reached her hands out to take their burden. Ezra leaned heavily into her arms. With a nod from Vin, and a wink from Buck, both men made quick disappearances.

"Okay, Senor, I’m getting you upstairs. Just lean on me, okay?" Inez was almost bent in two as she lugged Ezra into the saloon. 

Ezra smiled, and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, my dear," he replied, and let her take him upstairs to his room. It was slow, but Ezra made it up, and sighed with enormous relief as they reached his little home. 

Letting go of her, he hobbled across to the soft feather bed and fell into it, a huge grin on his face as tiny pieces of down floated around his head. Inez smiled indulgently, almost like a mother to her child. Her grin fell as he tried to sit up, the agony of the simple movement screwing up his usually calm features. She was helping him instantly, and soon had him sitting on the edge of the bed. He breathed deeply and gave her a crooked smile, and she shook her head in exasperation at his stubborn nature. She knelt in front of him, and unconsciously placed a hand on his knee.

"Your bath will be here in a few minutes, and I've had your clothes cleaned – you want the blue today, yes, for the judge? And I’ll waylay Senor Jackson should he come looking for you. But this is the only time I do this, okay? I like Nathan, and I do not want you thinking I will do this for you every time you get hurt. Do you get that? Especially when you cost the saloon more money to repair your mess." She tried to sound irate, but it wasn't working. She couldn't seem to hide the fact that she was genuinely happy to see him. She sighed heavily, as if aware that she couldn't keep up the attitude. "Also," she said softly, "I'm glad your home."

"As am I," he said, his hand brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. It was amazing how soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips, and he couldn’t resist tucking the hair behind her ear just so he could keep his hand on her face. Her lips parted, and her hand drifted up his leg to his thigh. At the same time, Ezra’s hand drifted from her ear to caress the back of her neck, and he found himself leaning forward to meet her soft lips, his eyes closing. 

Abruptly, Buck’s face appeared in his mind, and he realized what he was doing. He backed away from Inez, dropping his hand from her neck as if it were on fire. Inez opened her eyes at his sudden tenseness, her expression one of surprise. Then her face clouded, and she became incredibly angry. 

"Make up your mind," she snarled. She stood up then, and, with a swish of skirts, was gone.

"An inauspicious start," Ezra muttered, and fell back into the soft mattress.  
_______________________________

A couple of hours later, while eating breakfast in his room, Marcus Allen watched the coming and goings of the town with little interest. He knew that Orrin was here already, forcing him to stay out of sight and redesign his plan. 

Apparently, the Judge was going to hold a small hearing in the saloon that afternoon to hear the Goldman’s and the Reed’s arguments. Ezra Standish, whom he discovered was also one of the seven men Orrin had hired to guard this town, was representing them. 

He decided to wait to see what Orrin would do, and if his friend didn't turn this around, well… 

He sighed. He'd miss his friend, but he wasn't going to lose everything, not now. He'd wipe this whole town, and everyone in it, off the map if he needed to.  
______________________________

The clocks struck 5:00 in the afternoon in the saloon with an almost ominous air, and Ezra wondered if they were tolling just for him.

Judge Travis had spent the day ripping through the documents presented to him with a viciousness Ezra had never seen. He'd started by picking through every piece of evidence, challenging both their validity and efficacy under the law, as if unwilling to let anything the young man said to persuade him in the slightest. In the background, Ezra could see Hans and Beatta Goldman sitting at their table with confused frowns on their faces, and they weren't the only ones. Mary's eyes were wide, Josiah and JD were frowning, while Chris had his arms crossed as he glared at the judge from his seat. 

"I understand these people also pay you to 'educate' their children?" the judge said suddenly, looking up at Ezra. "Is that right?"

Ezra frowned, but inclined his head. _How was that relevant?_

"That seems very out of character," the Judge continued. "A reasonable man would guess that the money they're paying you is for something else. A gambling debt, is it? Or perhaps it's some sort of percentage scheme. Tell me, how much do they really owe you? And how much are you getting from this deal?"

"What? No, I'm not—"

"You do not do anything except for pecuniary gain, Standish. Do not lie to me. I know you too well."

Ezra drew in a shaky breath. "I assure you, Judge, I have no ulterior motive other than to—"

Travis slammed his gavel down. "I told you not to lie! Do not make me find you in contempt! I will lock you up again, you know I will."

Ezra's expression grew stony, but the hands tucked behind his back were clearly trembling. "I swear on my word, your honor—"

"Which is worthless to me. You gave me your word once before, remember? And then skipped out on your bail. I want to know what the real gain is here. Why are you doing this?"

Ezra blinked. "Fine," he lied, "they are paying me to represent them because of my past experience in matters like this, but that is all."

Hans frowned. "Wait, we're not pay—"

"Silence!" Travis ordered. "If I have questions for you, Goldman, I will ask them directly." He looked at Ezra again. "You mentioned your past experiences, you mean conning people out of land, yes? So how can I trust that you're not trying to pull that same con here? Why should I believe anything that you have placed in front of me?" He scattered the papers. "I cannot take any of this at face value, and you know it. Every single one of these could have been forged, a skill I know you possess from what you did up in Wyoming." He leaned forward, holding the gavel like he would hit him with it. "Get away from me, Standish, before I have you taken out of here."

Ezra swallowed roughly, and backed into the corner by the window. He held his bruised body tightly with his arms, trying not to show the agony that staying on his feet was causing him. He hadn’t expected this to take so long. Nathan would have his head. 

Worse, he may have lost the Goldmans and Reeds their homes. What the hell had he been thinking? He was foolish to think that the Judge would not take his crimes into account, and now he might have ruined the only chance they had merely by his involvement. He should have had Josiah present the evidence, or Mary. Anyone would have been better than him. He shut his eyes, trying not to let the tension show. This should have been easy, but because of his past, it was all going to hell. Chris had been wrong to trust him. They'd all been wrong to trust him. He should have stayed far away from any of this.

"Mr. Goldman," the Judge intoned as he stared at another document. "You say that you have been on this land for a little over ten years."

Hans stood up, swallowing hard, and replied, "yes, your honor. The age of my eldest son, sir."

"Did you not think the land might be owned by someone else?"

"Umm, well, yes sir. As I told Ezra, er, Mr. Standish, sir, I bought the land from the man who was already living on it. That should all be written down…."

"Did you perhaps ever consider that that man might have been lying to you, Mr. Goldman?" The Judge looked up, fixing the German with cold eyes. "The only proof that this man actually lived on the property before you is his word, and the town records stating him to have been a resident here for four years previous. The records do not say where the man lived. For all you know, he was a hustler, similar to Mr. Standish." In the background, Ezra winced and Chris actually slammed a fist on his table, but the Judge wasn’t finished. "He may have been selling land he did not own to anyone who passed by. Did you even try to determine if someone held title to the plot?"

"Well, no sir. I mean, Mr. Carter, the previous owner, he knew the place so well. Showed me how he'd built the barn and widened the cave. And he said he was moving because he was too old to continue running a ranch on his own. I’m sure if you were to contact him, he’d tell you--"

"Is Mr. Carter here, Mr. Standish?" The Judge interrupted. Ezra lifted his head, dropping his arms from his throbbing back in an attempt to appear calm. 

"No, your honor, he died last year at his daughter’s ranch out in Eagle Bend. But, if you look, sir, you will see I have sworn affidavits from several townsfolk who remembered Mr. Carter and will swear to the fact that he lived and worked on the Goldman ranch. Your daughter-in-law notarized them."

The judge gave him a sour look at the mention of Mary's name, as if Ezra was blackening her name with the association. "Are those townsfolk here?"

"No, sir, but I can get them." 

"I do not appreciate delays, Mr. Standish. They make me suspicious."

"I can have them here within the hour, Judge." Ezra’s voice remained neutral, but inwardly he was seething, swinging from guilt to anger. Part of him was fully aware that the Judge was being overly difficult. This obloquy felt excessive, even in light of their history. 

The Judge fixed him with a cold stare, then waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t bother. I can make my decision without them." He looked around the room again, before returning to Ezra. "Now, explain to me again why Mr. Reed is not here with us?"

"I am afraid Paul Reed is incapacitated at the moment, your honor. He is unable to leave the bed at the clinic, where Nathan is watching over him."

"How convenient." The Judge looked back down at his papers. 

"Okay, that's enough—" Chris said angrily, but the Judge held up a hand to him.

"Judge Travis," Ezra tried, "if you interviewed the prisoner Deacon Matthews and his men, which I assume you did this morning, you will know that I am not exaggerating the seriousness--" 

"Whether or not you are exaggerating, Mr. Standish, has nothing to do with my decision--even though you doubtless are. Now, please refrain from speaking again. I believe I have heard enough from you." 

Mary’s sharp intake of breath was her only comment on her father-in-laws aberrant behavior. Travis ignored her. Irritated, she stood with a flare of skirts.

"Orrin—"

"Sit down, Ms. Travis," the Judge ordered. "You are not part of this proceeding."

Mary's jaw dropped. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded.

Again, Travis ignored her. She stood watching him for a minute longer, then, with an apologetic gaze to the Goldmans and Ezra both, left the saloon. The Judge made no indication that her obvious disdain mattered to him. He stood and faced the onlookers, his gaze flickering over the Goldmans, Chris, Josiah and a wide-eyed JD, to the other townsfolk present, and finally to Ezra.

"I will make my decision tomorrow," he said, and gathered the papers to him. Without another comment, he left the saloon and headed for the hotel.

Ezra backed further until his legs hit a chair, and then all but fell into it, covering his face with his hands.

"Ezra?" Hans said, approaching him with Beatta. "I don't understand. What just happened?"

Ezra dropped his hands, but couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. The anger faded under his guilt again. 

"I am so sorry," was all he said. "This is my fault. I should…my involvement may have...If I hadn't been the one—"

"Bullshit," Chris snarled, limping over. He was standing next to Hans now, a bleak look on his face. "This isn't on you." His gaze narrowed as he looked out the doors after the judge. 

Ezra shook his head. "Of course it is. What else could it be? I should have never—"

"I'm going to talk to Mary," Chris said suddenly, as if Ezra hadn't even been speaking, and walked away.

Ezra frowned, watching blearily through the window as Chris crossed the street towards the Clarion.

"What do we do now?" Hans asked.

"Get some dinner," Josiah answered, settling into the seat next to Ezra while JD took the other seat at the table. "And try to get some rest. I am sure this will all work out."

Hans nodded and, taking Beatta's hand in his own, walked them out of the saloon.

"Your optimism in the face of my failure is endearing," Ezra said to Josiah, "but I fear it's hopeless."

"You didn't fail, son. Chris is right, none of that was about you."

Ezra's jaw dropped. "I'm sorry, were we in the same room? It was all about me. Why did I ever think I could do this? I'm the wolf in sheep's clothing; of course I'm not trustworthy. And he's never going to trust me like this again."

"You mean the judge?" JD asked.

"I think he means Chris," Josiah answered for Ezra. The preacher leaned back in his chair, his face calm. "You're wrong, Ezra. He has your back. We all do."

"He's right," JD agreed. "Ezra, listen. I love the judge, but what he just did was wrong. You didn't deserve to be talked to that way. You know that right?" 

"No. I don't." Ezra said quietly, looking down at the table. "The judge is right, he knows me. He has cause to call me questionable. After all, what have I ever done to deserve the Judge's trust?"

Josiah reached out a hand to take his arm, but Ezra drew it back before he could. 

"I'm not the one in need of comfort, Preacher," he said dully, standing up on weak legs but refusing to let it show. "If I were you, I would go find the Goldmans and the Reeds. They will need support now that I've lost them their homes." Unable to look at their pitying faces anymore, he turned and left the table.  
________________________________________________

Marcus Allen’s fingers twitched at the curtains in his third floor room, watching as Orrin made his way towards the same hotel where he was staying. Travis was on the second floor, in a similar suite. One of Marcus’ men appeared at the batwing doors, mingling with some of the other folks as they retreated from the saloon. He looked up at Allen’s window, and shrugged. Marcus dropped the curtain back in place, curious. Maybe, he thought, Orrin won’t have to die after all.

He stood and walked into the front room of the little suite he’d rented, to look upon the men lounging there. They returned his gaze expectantly and sat up a little straighter. Marcus smiled.

"We have a reprieve, gentlemen." He went to pour himself a drink out of the store of brandy they’d brought from the Square M. 

About a minute later, the man who had been spying in the saloon entered the room, shutting the door and approaching his boss.

Marcus' eyes narrowed. "How did it go?"

"No decision, Mr. Allen. Not until tomorrow."

"Any idea of outcome?"

"Well, the judge tore into the lawyer, seemed not to trust his stuff was real. Seems he's got some sort of questionable history."

"Questionable history?" Marcus replied, smiling again. "You mean, the lawyer might be the sort of man that might, say, leave someone in the lurch if things got difficult?"

His man shrugged. "Might be, yeah. Some of the folks watching said he'd been arrested before. Seemed nervous when the judge threatened it again."

Marcus hummed thoughtfully, and handed the brandy to the spy. He then poured another for himself. 

"Gentleman, thanks to Orrin, our original plan is still in place. Tonight, Jack," he looked at the spy, "once most of the town is asleep, find the lawyer. Convince him you have some new information that should ruin me, and get him back here. We will get him to pen a message that he couldn't handle the pressure and decided to run off, and then dispose of him quickly and quietly. Orrin thinks he's questionable? Well, after he 'runs off,' Orrin will have every reason to be certain of it." Jack tipped his head, and took a sip of the smooth liquid. Marcus moved his gaze to the four clearly related men reclining on the couch.

"Gallaghers, I want you staking out the boarding house and the clinic. As soon as you see my signal that the lawyer is dead, grab both families, take them out of town and dispose of them. We'll say they couldn't keep up the farce in light of Standish's confession and ran away." He winked.

"The kids, too?" the oldest of the Gallagher clan asked casually, interrupting. He calmly pushed a graying lock of hair off his face, indicating that his interest was merely one of clarification. Marcus looked at him, and nodded.

"Both families, Pete, that means all of them. If the healer tries to stop you, take him, too." He lifted his eyebrow. "Then set the clinic on fire. It should draw the lawmen, except perhaps one man to continue guarding Matthews and those two other turncoats. Cord and Monk, that will be your job." Again, Marcus shifted his gaze, this time to look at two men sitting near each other on a pair of hard backed chairs. 

"You have the ether bomb I gave you, yes?" At their nod, he continued, "Use it to knock them all out, then use your knives so you don't alert the lawmen. It needs to look like they killed each other, so make it look believable. As soon as your job is complete, get on the horses and get as far away from here and me as possible. Your money will be in the saddlebags on the horses." He glanced around at the others. "That goes for all of you. As soon as you each complete your tasks, get to your horses and ride in different directions. I never want to see any of you again. Understand?" He paused.

A chorus of quiet assents resounded around the room, and Marcus took them all in with a nod of his head. "Good," he looked down at the gold watch he wore at his waist, flipping open the cover with a nonchalant air. "I suggest you all have dinner in different places. Jack, you eat at the saloon. Set up your mark. Cord and Monk, you eat at the boarding house. Gallaghers, you may eat downstairs. And have them send up some food. Chicken, preferably." He paused, running a hand over his small moustache. "Now, except for Jack, whom I will see once more, I bid you all farewell. Good luck." And with that, he moved to the door and opened it. The men rose at once, and with only a few passing glances, melted out into the evening. Marcus shut the door, and straightened his cuffs, pulling the silk ruffles of his shirt out to make them more visible.

"One way or another, Orrin," he mused out loud, thinking of the absent Judge, "I will solve all of our problems tonight."  
_____________________________

Ezra sat in a chair near the fire, ignoring the game going on at his usual table, and drinking heavily from a whiskey bottle he clutched tightly. He watched the flames with a hypnotic air, unaware of the worried glances from his friends and Inez. The beautiful manager wandered over at one point, but Ezra had merely shook his head at her soft words, ignoring her as much as he'd ignored JD and Josiah earlier. Now all of them, except Josiah and JD who had spelled Buck and Vin at the jail, sat around a nearby table trying to figure out exactly what had occurred.

"And you say Travis started to attack Ezra immediately, without provocation?" Nathan asked Chris. "I mean, I know they have a past, but surely Ezra has done enough for this town to give him some credibility. He's one of us. You’re telling me the Judge practically refused to listen to him?"

"He was on him immediately," Chris said with a shrug. "Barely let him get a word in edgewise."

"Why?" Buck asked. "What's the reason? The real reason, I mean?"

"There wasn't one," Chris growled. "Just said Ezra wasn't trustworthy."

"Nah," Buck said. "There's gotta be a reason. Judge wouldn't do that to those families. Maybe there's…." He frowned. "Maybe there's some plan." Even as he said it, they knew it was hollow. If there'd been a plan, the judge would have at least told Chris. 

Nathan looked over at Ezra sitting alone, and furrowed his brow. "Ezra thinks it is his own fault, doesn’t he? That if the Reeds and Goldmans lose, it's because of him." He shook his head as Ezra took another swig, the tension in the man’s face becoming more obvious as the liquor took effect. "Damn, I wish he’d lay off that stuff. He’s still badly hurt."

"You gonna drag him back to the clinic to sleep tonight like you threatened?" Buck asked. 

Nathan shook his head, returning his gaze to the table. "I was going to, but I think I’ll let him be. His head will need more healing than his body right now, and he’ll do better in his own room. How did this all go so wrong? I mean, I thought this was a done deal?"

Chris shrugged. 

"There has to be something we can do," Nathan stated.

"Mary already tried," Chris said. 

Vin nodded. "I saw that. She had dinner with him after the hearing, but before they even got half-way through, he got up and left her at the table. Said he wasn't well, and retired. He hasn't been out all evening."

"Travis dismissed Mary?" Buck asked, amazed. 

"I don't believe this," Nathan said. Then he frowned deeply and looked pointedly at Chris. "Are we really going to let this happen?"

Chris met the healer’s dark eyes quietly, while next to him Buck slouched closer to the table, cupping his hands around his beer mug. Vin cleared his throat.

"Not sure there's anything we can do. This isn't something we can shoot." 

"No, but it's something we can fight," Chris said, standing. He nodded to Nathan. "Nathan's right. Ezra is one of us, and that should be enough."

"Chris, you know that when he’s being all judge-like you aren’t supposed to…." Buck stopped himself, then grinned. "Aw hell, get up there. Maybe he’ll listen to you." 

"What if he's asleep?" Josiah asked.

"Then I'll wake him up." With a nod to his best friend, Chris left the building for the hotel. The others turned back to Ezra. The gambler never even noticed.  
_________________________

The first time Chris knocked on the Judge’s door, it was a polite rap. The second time, he banged a little louder. Finally, he was slamming his fist on the innocent wooden door, yelling the Judge’s name. He was about to kick it down when it swung open, revealing a bloodshot and very rumpled Orrin Travis. 

"What do you want?" the Judge demanded angrily. The stout man was still dressed in his clothes from the day, but the creases that lined the cotton trousers and shirt indicated he had probably been lounging in them. This, combined with the wine stain on the front of the waistcoat, brought Chris to the obvious conclusion that the Judge had been seriously drinking.

To say that Chris was shocked would be an understatement. The dropped jaw quickly turned into a deep frown, however, as the thought of how Mary might react to her father-in-law in this state crossed his mind. 

"I repeat, Mr. Larabee," Travis stated, his speech slightly slurred, "what do you want? I am expecting to have an extremely long day tomorrow and I do not need your disapproving stares keeping me awake at night." In a sorry attempt to straighten himself out a little, the Judge drew back his shoulders and fixed what he hoped was an intimidating stare on to the gunslinger. Chris snorted.

"I want an explanation. I believed you to be one of the fairest men I’ve ever met, but today you clearly arrived with your mind already made up and attacked Ezra like he was filth. I want to know why."

Travis stood silently for a few moments, clearly gauging his adversary. Then, without a word, the Judge opened the door to his hotel room wider and allowed his hired gun inside. He then followed Chris into the small sitting room and settled himself on the small divan next to the window. Chris sat in a hard backed chair opposite, leaning forward to watch the older man.

"Do you know, I have only managed to drink a third of this bottle?" Travis asked, gesturing to a small bottle of brandy sitting next to where he was sprawled out. "And here I am, halfway to complete and utter inebriation. I doubt I could take another sip without falling flat on my face. I am sorely out of practice." The Judge smiled tiredly. 

Chris did not return the smile, but Travis didn’t notice. Instead, the Judge raised the bottle up to better inspect it, loosely turning it in his hands such that the red liquor caught the candlelight in the room. His eyes took on a faraway look.

"It was given to me by an old and dear friend whom I stayed with last week," he whispered. "Someone for whom I have a lot of affection. Someone…." He sighed, looked at Chris. The man in black didn’t say a word. The Judge set the bottle down carefully, pulled off his glasses, and put his head in his hands.

"Marcus Allen is a friend of mine, Chris. I was at his home just days ago. It was the first time I’d seen him in almost fifteen years, and to have this happen….What are the chances?" He paused, grinding his palms into his eyeballs. 

"Pretty damned coincidental, I'd say," Chris replied dryly. _How blind was the judge?_ But Travis still shook his head.

"No, he is a good man. Hard working and loyal. We grew up together, went to school together….I know him. I refuse to believe he knows anything of what your prisoner Matthews said he did." 

"Judge--" Chris interrupted, but Travis cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Just tell me this, Mr. Larabee. What is that gambler trying to pull with this stunt, huh? Is he trying to get money out of Marcus? Out of those families? Is this some weird twisted plot to get back at me?"

Chris sat back, amazed. But then it occurred to him that, when he first began working with the elusive gambler, he too often questioned Ezra’s motives. But not anymore. Not when it mattered, and never when kids were involved. His gaze narrowed.

"How long has it been since you last saw your friend?" he asked the judge. "Fifteen years?"

Travis shook his head. "Don't try that game on me."

"Because mine is someone I've had watching my back every day. He's spilt blood for me. Hell, he's spilt blood for you and for everyone here. He's more than earned my trust, and he should have earned yours."

"This isn't about trusting his skill as a gun—"

"That's not what I'm saying. Ezra's one of us, judge. He stood up there today for the people of this town, for what is right, just as we all do. There is no secondary motive here, no money, and no revenge. This is about those families, and the hell they've been through because of your so-called 'good man.' A little girl was shot in the back, her mother killed, and we were almost buried under a wall of rock trying to save the Goldman's home. You really think this is some sort of game for him? For any of us?"

Chris watched as the Judge lowered his eyes. The old man trembled as he reached for his glasses and slipped them back onto his nose. When he looked up again, Chris saw a wetness there that belied the man’s typical stoic nature.

"Don't ask me to betray my friend, Chris."

"Why not?" Chris snarled. "He's already betrayed you." 

The judge shook his head again, still stubborn. Chris sighed and looked out the window to the dark streets below, watching as the town’s oil man walked down the street, snuffing some of the fires and lamps and checking out the alleys in his late night ritual. 

"I'll make it real simple, Judge." He looked back at Travis. "If you use Ezra as an excuse not to grant this injunction, then you may consider my position and those of my men in this town, at an end."  
_______________________________

"Excuse me, Mr. Standish?" Jack asked, looking down at the besotted southerner. Ezra brought red rimmed eyes up to look upon his intruder, ready to stare him down. Jack brought a finger up to loosen his collar, nervousness causing it to stick to his sweaty skin, and smiled. Ezra looked back to the fire.

"Mr. Standish, I’m sorry to disturb you, but, um…" Jack looked around at the near empty saloon. He noticed that a couple of the gambler’s friends were watching the exchange, the preacher and the tall gunslinger, but they didn’t look like they were up to interrupting. He continued, "Well, you see, I may know something about Marcus Allen that might help you." When Ezra didn’t respond, Jack decided to push a little harder.

"You see, my name is Jack Smithers and I come from Meeksville. Mr. Allen, well, he came down on us a few years back, buying up all the loose property and then saying he had title to all these others. He kicked a lot of good people off their land, and now the whole place is scared to death of him. When we heard about the fact that he was going to try and do the same here, but that you were fighting him, well, some folks of the town sent me to see if I could help. You know, if we help you, then maybe you can help us. Indirect like. You see?" Still Ezra hadn’t moved, and Jack was getting a little worried. Fine, thought the outlaw, let’s see if you can ignore this. Outwardly, he swallowed nervously, and prepared to drop the bait.

"Well, anyway, you see, Jeff Clark, the sheriff there, he’s my boss. I work for him in the surveyor’s office." He paused, and was pleased to see that the gambler twitched at the news. "Anyway, he um, well, he’s just rotten, Mr. Standish. Mr. Allen paid him to make up all these false deeds, and then to spit out eviction notices in his capacity as sheriff. Did it all on the same machine. Well, I got copies of some of those titles Mr. Clark made, and some other stuff, and I can prove that they’re illegal. But you gotta protect me, Mr. Standish. I could die for doing this." 

By the time Jack was finished, Ezra was staring at him outright. The gambler was so inebriated, he couldn’t discern the false nature behind the man’s words, and the growing smile on Ezra’s face told Jack everything the outlaw needed. 

This was almost too easy.

"So will you come with me?" Jack asked, resting a hand on the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip. "Because the proof is in my room."


	8. Final Words

Buck and Vin watched the scene happening with Ezra with interest. JD and Josiah were still at the jail, and Nathan had returned to the clinic to spell Mary, so Buck and Vin had taken it upon themselves to be on "Ezra" duty. The two remaining lawmen couldn’t hear what was being said between Ezra and Jack, but the smile on Ezra’s face had surprised both of them. A few moments later saw Ezra slowly making his way to his feet, gripping the sides of the chair for support, and the young stranger giving him a hand. Together they left the saloon.

"Well, maybe that means something good," Buck remarked. Vin shrugged. 

"I hope so. Ezra ain't in any shape to go walking."

"Must be something really important to get him up and around," Buck agreed. "Not to mention his current state of intoxication." He paused, and looked over at the two empty bottles of red eye next to where Ezra had been sitting. 

"Yep," Vin said. "In fact, I'm thinking he may not have all his wits about him."

Buck stared at the batwing doors for a few minutes, his chin resting on one hand. "He's certainly in no position to defend himself if he hasn't."

Vin glanced at Buck. "Reckon we should follow him?" 

"Reckon we should," Buck agreed, getting up.  
_________________________________

Jack led Ezra slowly and painfully up the second flight of stairs of the hotel to the third floor. If he had been more awake, Ezra might have questioned how a mere clerk could afford to stay on the top floor of the hotel, traditionally the most expensive rooms in town. But at the moment, all Ezra could think about was putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing from the strain on his much-suffering back.

Finally, they were there. Fumbling a little, Jack got his key out and opened the door to the dark room. Ezra squinted into the interior, waiting for Jack to lead him inside, but the young clerk seemed intent to let Ezra go first. 

"Mr. Smithers," Ezra slurred, "Perhaps you should go first as it is highly likely that I might be the victim of some unfortunate misstep should I meet with a wayward piece of furniture as the lamps aren't lit and I'm not all that familiar with these particular set of rooms." He smiled brightly at Jack, oblivious to the crazy run-on sentence he’d just spouted, his gold tooth flashing in the light of the candles in the hallway. Jack frowned, but nodded, and walked inside.

Strange, Ezra thought, why did he frown? Surely what I said made sense, didn’t it? What did I say? I said a lot of words. Did I say too much? Ezra blinked, and realized that Jack was looking back at him curiously, having now lit a few of the oil lamps scattered about the large sitting room. The gambler was still in the hall.

"Um, Mr. Standish?" Jack asked. "Aren’t you coming in?"

Ezra blinked again, but didn’t move. He mind was still so fogged. Why couldn’t he move? His conscious mind was urging him forward, but instinct had his body staying rooted right where it was.

"Sorry," he said, trying to understand his hesitation, "why are we here again?"   
_______________________________

Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, glancing only briefly at Marcus Allen. The rancher was standing behind the door to the room, a large stick in his hands ready to strike. Allen was mouthing at him to get on with it. 

"I'm going to show you some papers," he said coaxingly. "They're just here, on the table. Please, come in." 

He moved closer to his quarry as he spoke, intent only on convincing the man to step inside. When he was only about a foot from him, Jack shot his hands out and grabbed the southerner’s jacket lapels, propelling the gambler into the room. 

Ezra was in no position to fight back, and he stumbled weakly across the threshold. All he could do was emit a small cry of "Hey!" before Allen slammed the wood into the back of his head. Ezra fell like a stone to the floor and Jack slammed the hall door closed behind them.  
_________________________________________

Below, Chris and the Judge looked up at the ceiling, the large thump having surprised them both.  
_________________________________________

On the stairs, Vin and Buck started running.  
_________________________________________

Allen leaned over Ezra’s inert body, a maniacal grin on his face as he looked at the bloody stick in his hands. _What a rush!_ He looked up at Jack, his eyes sparkling. "Well done, my boy." 

"Think you might've hit him a little too hard," Jack said with a frown. "Thought you wanted him to write a confession or something."

"We can worry about that later," Allen answered, turning Ezra over onto his back. Putting his hands under the gambler’s arms, he started dragging the body to the bedroom.

"Whatever you say." Jack pulled out a long hunting knife from under his clothes, pulling the wicked blade from its sheath. He wiped it lovingly on his sleeve, and moved after his boss. 

The door slammed open, causing Jack to spin around and Marcus to drop his burden. Buck barged in screaming bloody murder, knocking Jack off his feet. Vin came in right after, his gun raised and pointing at Marcus, but the rancher dove into the bedroom and shut the door before Vin could get a shot off.

"Come out of there you coward!" Vin yelled, running to the door and slamming his weight against it. Buck, having swiftly dispatched the young Jack with a few well-placed blows, was bending over Ezra, muttering darkly at the blood he found on the back of the man’s head. At that moment, Chris and the Judge appeared on the doorstep. Chris immediately ran to Ezra’s side.

"What the hell is going on?" Travis demanded.

"Orrin?" A voice suddenly yelled from the bedroom. "Orrin, help me! These men are attacking me in my own room! They’ve already hurt my bodyguard!"

Travis’ mouth fell open. "Marcus?" he called.

Chris looked up, surprised. 

"As in Allen?" Buck asked. 

"Yes, it’s me, Orrin. Help me, please! The gambler already tried to kill me. Help!" 

Travis looked at Chris, who looked at Buck. Buck shook his head. 

"That man there…" Buck pointed to Jack. "…somehow convinced Ezra to come up here. We knew Ezra was in no shape to defend himself, much less attack anyone as he can barely walk..." Here he looked pointedly at the Judge. "So we followed. We were on the stairs when we heard Ezra cry out and fall. And when we arrived, he…" Buck pointed again at Jack. "…was sharpening his hunting knife, while Marcus…" He jerked a thumb at the closed bedroom door. "…was dragging Ezra into the bedroom."

"No, Orrin, it isn’t true," Marcus yelled. "The man on the floor tried to kill me! My bodyguard defended me by knocking him out, but these two ruffians broke in and started attacking me as well! Orrin, you must believe me!" He sobbed. "Orrin! Who are you going to believe, eh? Me, your old friend, or some drifter gunslingers who are only trying to cover up for their con artist friend?"

Travis surveyed the room, looking at the bloodied stick on the floor, at the unconscious gambler, and finally at Chris. The black clad gunslinger stared back, his jaw tensed in unmitigated anger. Travis’s mouth set in a firm line, and he nodded to the three peacekeepers in the room. 

"Keep going," he told Vin.

Vin smiled coldly and returned to slamming his shoulder into the door. Chris helped Buck pick up Ezra, to rest him comfortably in Buck's arms.

"Get him to the clinic," Chris ordered. Buck quickly exited, shifting Ezra up higher to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. 

Vin growled in frustration at the unyielding bedroom door, annoyed because it was obvious Marcus was on the other side holding it up. Chris placed a hand on Vin's arm, and pulled out his gun. Orrin swallowed and turned away to look out into the hallway. Vin stepped back, and watched as his oldest friend blew off the lock.

Marcus squealed as the bullet exploded through the door. He pulled his gun out as both Chris and Vin used their combined weights to slam the door off its hinges, sprawling onto the floor at the backpedaling man's feet. Using both hands, he aimed the gun squarely at Chris’s head.

"Arrêt! Halte!" Marcus yelled. "Don’t move or you are dead!" He kept his eyes fixed on the two men who were staring up at him with cold stares, and switched the gun’s aim to Vin. 

"Marcus! What the hell are you doing?" Travis yelled angrily. It was all the distraction Chris needed. He launched himself at Marcus’s legs, bowling the smaller man over. Marcus dropped the gun, screaming expletives as he tried to find the gun in the blackness of the room. His fingers scrambled across the rough rug, but he was too slow. Chris flipped him over, and held his own gun to the man’s head.

"No!" Marcus screamed, shutting his eyes. "Don’t kill me! Orrin, don’t let him kill me! Please!" 

When Travis didn’t respond, Marcus’ beady eyes flew open again to focus on Chris. The gunslinger’s eyes were almost black in the unlit room, and the whites of his eyes shimmered in the moonlight through the window. 

"Any final words?" Chris hissed, and pulled back the hammer.

"No, no! Look, if you kill me now others will die! You won’t be able to stop them in time! Damn it! Don’t shoot!"

Chris leaned in closer. "What others?" he demanded quietly.

"The Goldmans and the Reeds, I’ve sent men to kill them and your healer, and to light the clinic on fire. And I’ve got two men ready to take the jail as soon as the flames get going, using an ether bomb. Please, I swear! They may already be on their way. Kill me, and you’ll never stop them in time! Please!" Tears streamed down the man’s pig like face, his cowardice controlling his every move. 

In the background, Vin took off out of the room, heading to warn the others. In the sitting room, Travis sat down heavily on the divan and placed his head in his hands.  
_______________________________

Marcus’s henchman did not even know what hit them. When the younger Gallaghers made their way into the clinic, the youngest was barely inside the door when he felt the cold steel of Buck's gun pressed to his forehead. Over at the boarding house, Pete Gallagher was knocked cold by the handle of Josiah's rifle as the preacher brought it down on his head. The outlaw hadn’t even crossed the threshold.

Monk and Cord, as they entered the jail after loosing the ether bomb, were surprised to find no one inside except Matthews and his men in a drug-induced sleep in the cells. The confusion only lasted long enough for them to find JD and Vin flanking them with guns raised and cocked, however. 

"Drop ‘em" Vin ordered. Monk and Cord did as they were told, knives falling to the floor, and JD shoved them into the cells with the others.  
_______________________________

Warmth and light assailed Ezra’s eyelids for the second time in as many days, and, once again, actually opening his eyes was a tremendous chore. This time, however, it was not his body that protested the move, but his head. A dull ache hammered at the back of his skull, worse than he'd felt in a long time. Perhaps it would be best just to keep them closed….

"Ezra?"

_Oh damn._

"Ez? Come on, pard, wake up."

_Go away._

"Ezra, listen, the Judge is here. He has to leave but he wants to say something to you. Now, we know you’re in there. You’ve been moaning and groaning for a while now."

_Moaning and groaning?_

"Mr. Standish?" 

_Martha?_

"Could you open your eyes for me? Please? Daddy says we are going to go home soon, and I want to say good bye. And Manny and Charlie are here too. And the Goldmans."

_Trust Nathan to use a little girl to do his dirty work._

_Okay, on three, Ezra. One…two…._

Ezra’s eyelids fluttered open, then shut again immediately. He raised a hand to his head, and rubbed his forehead. Someone nearby lifted his hand away, and pressed a cool washcloth to his face, wiping at his face and eyes. Déjà vu? Gamely, Ezra tried again, and somehow succeeded. He looked up at Martha’s smiling face through a brain filled with cotton. She was wearing a pale blue sundress, and she had flowers in her hair. She would be beautiful when she grew up.

"Miss Reed," Ezra pronounced weakly, coughing. She grinned broadly, and leaned back, the wet cloth in her hand dropping to her side. Nathan appeared, and pressed a tin cup filled with water to his lips. Coughing some more, Ezra managed to down some of it before the healer took it away. Trying not to move his head too much, Ezra searched the room and found it full. The Judge sat on his right in the rocking chair, cane in hand, looking tense. Josiah sat behind the judge, leaning on the windowsill and Chris leaned his shoulder against the wall next to him. Paul Reed sat on the cot to Ezra’s right, with Hans and Beatta. Martha stepped back from his bed to reveal Manfred and Charles on either side, also smiling happily. The way they were looking at him reminded the gambler of the way people contemplated the first prize at the cattle stockyard. Ezra scowled.

"Now, now, no need for that," Josiah said, clicking his tongue at the expression. "We won’t all be here long."

"What happened?" The gambler croaked. Yes, Ezra thought, definitely déjà vu.

"Marcus Allen paid us a visit. Turns out he didn’t like the way you were handling the Reed's and the Goldman's cases," Nathan replied, a smile playing on his lips. Ezra flexed an eyebrow, his eyes wide open now.

"Is everyone alright?" 

"Everyone’s fine, now that we know you’ve come back to the living," the healer answered. "And don’t worry about the prisoners either. Some Federal Marshals arrived yesterday morning, complete with a prison wagon and a regiment of army types. They took care of all our problems, Allen included."

Ezra frowned, puzzled. "Yesterday morning?"

Nathan lowered his head, his smile fading somewhat. "Yeah. You missed a few things, but, don't worry, you were there in spirit." He glanced at the judge when he said that, who had yet to lift his head. Before Ezra could ask what that meant, the Goldmans came forward to the bed, Manfred and Charlie each pressing small hands on Ezra’s right arm where it stuck out from under the covers. Paul Reed stood up shakily, leaning heavily on Martha, and joined them.

"Mr. Standish," Hans said, "we owe you, Mr. Larabee, and the rest of this town an enormous debt of gratitude. I’m not sure how we can repay it but, if you ever need anything that we might be able to provide…"

Ezra smiled. "You know you owe us nothing," he said.

"Well, at the very least, once we have a working kitchen, we would like you and the other men to come out for dinner," Beatta said. She looked at Chris. "You will all come, won't you?"

"We’d be honored," Chris said.

"Come by soon, boys," Paul chimed in. "Even just to say hello." The children all echoed the sentiment, and Martha gripped the gambler’s hand. Ezra just nodded, and watched dumbly as the two families left together. Nathan shut the door behind them, then went to start straightening the cot that Paul had just left.

Travis cleared his throat, surprising Ezra. He’d forgotten the Judge was there on his other side. He tilted his head to look upon the stern visage. Chris had his arms crossed where he also watched the older man from his vantage point behind the man’s back.

"Judge?" Ezra asked, wondering what the man was doing here.

Travis looked up, meeting Ezra’s eyes. He unlocked his jaw, and licked his lips. Ezra’s eyebrows lifted, his surprise turning to astonishment. Was the Judge actually nervous? And because of him?

"Mr. Standish, I owe you an apology."

For once, Ezra was speechless.

"I allowed personal feelings for a friend color my judgment, and I may have inadvertently been somewhat to blame for your current predicament."

Ezra looked over at Chris, the confusion plain on the gambler’s face. Chris just shrugged. The Judge pretended not to notice the silent communication.

"In any event, Mr. Standish, I give you my word that I will not doubt your integrity again without real cause."

"Judge Travis, I’m not sure--" Ezra interrupted.

"Let me finish, boy." Travis intoned angrily. "I do not often apologize, but I am doing so now, and you would do me the courtesy to let me complete my speech." 

Ezra shut his mouth with a click of his teeth. Travis nodded, and stood. He seemed older to the gambler for some reason, and he seemed to lean more heavily on his cane. Chris shadowed his moves, just in case.

"All I really want to tell you, is…" Travis swallowed, and locked eyes with Ezra again. "You did a fine job. Better than fine. You would have made an excellent lawyer. In fact, you might still do. If you ever wish to take the exams, let me know, I would not hesitate to recommend you to the Bar." 

The Judge turned away then, his piece said. Slowly he shuffled to the door, leaving a stunned Ezra behind. As he reached the door, he turned once more to face the gambler.

"One last thing," he said, "I want you to know that I will not bring your past up again. You've earned my trust, young man, so do me a favor and don't cause me to regret it." And then, oddly, he smiled. The first smile to cross the Judge’s face since he'd arrived four days previously. With a final nod of his head, the Judge opened the door and walked out into the open air, Chris following him. Nathan, who had followed them to the door, shut it behind them and sighed in relief.

"Damn, Ezra, if you don’t half drive people crazy," Nathan said. Ezra just raised his eyebrows again.

"You will explain to me what that was all about, won’t you?" 

"Let's just say," Josiah said, studying the door, "that someone convinced the judge you were worth apologizing to."

Ezra frowned, not completely understanding, until the door opened again and Chris walked back inside and, amazingly, favored him with a nod. _Huh._ Without another word, Chris shut the door behind him, and then walked over to sit in the rocking chair next to Ezra's bed. His limp had faded, but there was still a slight hitch to his movements. 

Confused now, Ezra watched the gunslinger settle himself in, and realized that Josiah also looked like he was planning to stay awhile, casually plucking some lint from his shirt. In the background, Nathan continued to straighten the room, muttering about too many cooks making a mess of his home. 

"Um," Ezra said, "Don’t you all have places to be?" He glanced around at his friends.

"Nope," Chris replied, pulling out a pack of cards. Suddenly, the door opened and the rest of the seven poured themselves into the room. Ignoring Nathan’s protest of "Hey!" they came and arranged themselves around Ezra’s bed, messing up the cot the healer had just straightened. JD even managed to knock over a tray of implements Nathan had just arranged next to the cot, and he jumped as Nathan made to cuff him on the head. Scrambling over Ezra’s legs to get away, the boy made it to the far side of the bed and next to Chris before Nathan could reach him. Ezra just blinked in astonishment at the onslaught.

"Anyone for a game of chance?" Chris asked, imitating a southern drawl as he flashed the cards in his hands. Nathan stood flabbergasted, his hands on his hips, still glaring at JD.

"Damn it, Chris. Ezra needs his rest."

"Looks fine to me," Buck said brightly as he propped dirty boots up on the edge of Ezra’s bed, watching as Chris dealt the cards out to all of them, using Ezra as a table. The gambler frowned, trying to decide whether he should put up with this indignity. Nathan’s face reddened in frustration.

"Buck, he is not fine, and, in case you have all forgotten, this is my home you're stepping all over."

"Your home?" Buck replied, eyebrows raised. "Oh I don’t know about that. The rest of use spend enough time here that I think we could have a pretty good claim of adverse possession, right, Ez?" 

"More like scrambling possession," Ezra muttered, shaking his head. "And, may I just repeat that my name is not Ez. There are two syllables in--"

"Adverse possession, my ass, Buck Wilmington," Nathan challenged towering over the sitting gunslinger, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Is that the same ass that Raine likes so much?" Buck replied cheekily.

Nathan’s eyebrows shot up, and he roared as he reached down to grab the other man. Ducking out of the healer’s grasp, Buck imitated JD’s earlier move of rolling across Ezra’s legs, ignoring the gambler’s annoyed cry. Nathan nearly followed him, but Vin wrapped his arms around the larger man’s arms in an attempt to calm him down. Moments later, a full scale battle was in motion, in which all but Josiah, Chris and Ezra took part in. For his part, the preacher was laughing so hard, he had tears running down his face. But Chris just looked calmly at his cards while Ezra watched the others with a slack-jawed expression.

"Hey!" Ezra yelled as a tin cup spun in his direction to smack into the wall above his head. He looked over at Chris, who was regarding him calmly. Ezra shook his head. "And you call me trouble?" Chris just shrugged and looked pointedly at the pile of cards on Ezra's lap. The gambler sighed and picked them up. "Well," he said peevishly, "at least you're not playing without me this time."

Chris flashed a smirk. "Of course not, you're one of us."

Ezra held on to those words for a moment, trying not to show how much it meant to him. Then smiled crookedly. "But better dressed, of course," he said, frowning a little at what he was holding. "And with cleaner hair."

Chris snorted. "What would we do without you?"

"You’d be bored out of your minds," the gambler replied instantly, his mind already several steps ahead in the card game. Around him, renewed laughter echoed through the clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, in my current job, I absolutely hate the action of adverse possession. It's one of the banes of my career. Who knew? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
